


Ella

by Medie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's always going to be another family of werewolves, another family of hunters, and there's always going to be Stiles right in the middle of it. Ten years after high school, after the pack, after Beacon Hills, Stiles finds himself caught up again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for the love-bingo square "Adoption"

The phone rings at 3 am. Rings loud enough to wake the dead and, because he's paranoid about his alarms, vibrates itself right off the bedside table and onto the floor with a clatter that probably wakes half his building. 

Or not, but in the quiet of his bedroom, that's exactly how loud it sounds. Stiles snaps awake, staring into the darkness as his brain tries its best to sort out just what the hell that sound was.

It's embarrassing how long it takes him to connect that the klaxon filling the room is his cellphone.

"Scott's right, though," he mumbles, flopping onto his belly to fumble for the phone. "Can't miss that Red Alert." He grabs the phone from beneath the pile of clothes (and no, no idea how it managed to get there, but it's how his life goes, so Stiles isn't worried) and hits answer. "...'lo?"

"Mr. Stilinski? Stiles Stilinski?"

Yeah, he still goes by that. Ten years out of high school and, no, he's never, ever going by his real name. Not even to the local Sheriff's Department, who happens to be calling him at three in the morning.

Peg MacPherson is the Sheriff. It's not her, but he can hear her in the background. There's yelling, a lot of swearing, and even more sirens. 

Fuck. That's not good.

"Yeah," he says, sliding out of bed and grabbing the nearest pair of jeans. "I mean, yes, I am. Something I can help you with, Deputy?" 

"Unfortunately, yes. There's been an incident."

*

An incident. Standing before the ruins of a house, Stiles puts his hands in his pockets and shivers. The beams are still smoking, smoldering in the light rain that's begun to fall, and he can't help thinking about home. 

It's been years since he went back. Getting his dad to visit him here is about the only way Stiles can get him to take a few days off. Some day, his dad is going to catch on to all the excuses being complete and shameless lies, but Stiles talks to his doctor and Scott's mom all the time. Visiting Stiles is about the only time off his dad takes and Stiles knows, if he goes home instead, then his dad's going to spend half the time checking in with work. So, yes, the Stilinski family holiday always occurs outside the picturesque Beacon Hills. His Dad gets his time off and Stiles gets to avoid, well, _everything_. 

"Hell of a thing, isn't it?" 

"Reminds me of home," Stiles says, looking down at Peg. She's a rough looking woman, strong featured, but her eyes remind him of his mom. Soft, gentle, and way too nice to be a Sheriff. (Not that Stiles is that stupid. He's seen Peg throw drunks out of Mike's and that woman has _heft_ ) He likes Peg. "The Hale house?"

It feels awkward saying it. The words sit weird on his lips and he glances around. It takes him a second to realize he's looking for Derek. 

Peg doesn't notice. She's nodding. "Remember your Dad mentioning that one. Funny you should bring it up, though." 

Stiles has never been good with humor. He's awesome at the witty one liners, can snark with the best of them, but jokes are so not his forte. Scott's suffered through every last one of them and can attest that, yes, his best friend is awesome with research, saving wolf ass, and a thousand other things known to God, man, and wolf alike, but not jokes. Never jokes. Knock, knock is as far as he can go.

It's probably why he wants to say 'funny, ha-ha, or funny-funky-weird-supernatural-and-oh-yeah-you-don't-know-about-that, oops?'. 

Some people might think it's weird to practice what you say before you say it. Those people have never kept the kinds of secrets that Stiles has. Practicing it in his head has kept him from blurting out some really embarrassing stuff and it's even more embarrassing how long it took him to figure that out. 

He enjoys the extremely bad joke in his head, then looks at Peg. "Funny enough that you call an elementary school teacher out of bed at ass o'clock in the morning?"

Peg looks grim. "Ella Jacobson." 

Ella is six and Stiles' best student. She is the kind of adorable that is usually saved for puppies, rainbows, and super-squishy teddy bears. 

Stiles is also pretty sure that Ella is a werewolf. He knows there are a couple packs in the area. You live in a small-town long enough, you get the rhythms of the place, and he's been here since he graduated college. He's never actually seen any of the wolves, but he knows they're there.

And he's pretty sure that the Jacobsons are among them. Good people. Quiet. Nice big house on the edge of town, a few cousins and extended relations coming and going from time to time, and a penchant for long weekends handy about the full moon. 

Stiles hasn't precisely said anything, but he's keeping an eye out. Kept. "This isn't the Jacobson place." 

"No, it belongs to Mrs. Jacobson's father. Whole family was here for some kind of reun—" Peg stops mid-sentence when Stiles gets it. Or, more likely, Stiles just stops listening because the realization hits like a punch to the gut and he stumbles away, bending over, trying to breathe. 

Everything greys out around him and he fights to stay calm. He hasn't had anything approaching a panic attack in years, puberty in Beacon Hills means developing pretty mean coping skills, but he can feel one nipping at his heels.

Peg lays a hand on his back, her voice speaking soothing nonsense in his ear, and Stiles leans into it. He lets himself ride the cadence of her voice until his body settles. 

When he can trust his voice, he looks at her. "They're all gone, aren't they?" 

"All but the little one," Peg affirms. "Found her out back. Looks like one of them managed to push her out a little window. She's in a bad way, Stiles. None of us can get near her. Thought you might want to give it a try."

It's not that simple. Stiles knows it's not that simple. He also knows that whatever else Peg knows, she's not going to tell him until they get Ella looked at and looked after.

He squares his shoulders and nods. "This wasn't accidental, was it?"

The gentleness in Peg's eyes bleeds away to cold, hard fury. "They chained the doors from the outside. There's buckshot along the windows."

Stiles has a pretty good idea what that buckshot might actually be made of. 

He thumbs his phone and thinks of Chris Argent. He hasn't talked to the man in years, but when Peg leads him around back, Stiles tugs out his phone to snap a picture of the house and the chained front door. 

"Seen a lot of things in my life, Stiles," Peg is saying, when he catches up. "Some of them haven't made a damn bit of sense. You learn to take a few things on faith and wait for the rest to settle out." 

She looks back at the house. "The Jacobsons have been in this town for generations. Whatever else they were, they were good for the place and they never hurt a soul." 

Stiles misses a step. Damn near goes face first into a pile of soggy curtains. One of the firemen catches him by the scruff and hauls him back upright. Alex. Alex of the trim hips and the broad, broad shoulders. Stiles has slept on those shoulders. Would've kept right on with it, except for uncomfortable realizations about eerie resemblances that are better off not mentioned ever, ever again. He manages a smile and a, "Thanks" before stumbling to catch up with Peg.

Peg. The Sheriff who knows about the werewolves living in her backyard. Peg _knows_.

"I remember a few conversations with your dad," Peg is saying as he falls into step with her. "Comparing notes. Seems you might know a man who can put me onto the bastards who did this?"

"Uh, yeah, I think I might," Stiles says. "Was just thinking about him, actually. I don't have a number for him, but his daughter married a friend of mine." He takes the pen that Peg holds out and writes Scott's number on her hand. "You, uh, might want to mention me before you start hinting around at things? It'll work better that way."

Or it will be a complete disaster, but that's not his problem right now. The little pink house sitting in the corner of the backyard is. 

It's seriously, seriously pink. It's got Ella written all over it and Stiles feels every single bit of him _break_. He doesn't care who finds the bastards that did this, but someone is going to and, holy hell, he'll crawl on his hands and knees to Derek if he has to, just as long as that someone makes it fucking _hurt_.

"Can you give us a minute?" he asks, looking at Peg. "I don't think she's going to come out with everyone here." 

Peg nods. "Social worker's on her way. I'm going to go arrange things with her, then we'll head over to her place, pack up a bag. If she's up to it, you ask what she'll need and we'll make sure she gets it."

She's halfway across the yard before Stiles makes the connection. Peg knows about Ella's family. Peg knows about Ella and she knows the same thing Stiles does: there is no fucking way someone like Ella can go to a foster home.

They don't know the things Stiles knows. No one in town knows the things that Stiles knows.

Which is the point. 

He gulps. "Oh, hell." 

*

He doesn't know how early they change. He's always sort of assumed puberty, but he's never asked. That always fell under the kinds of questions he didn't know how to ask Derek. Questions that came too close to the fire and the way Derek's eyes shuttered when it came up. 

He's going to need to know. 

Stiles looks at the little playhouse and inches a little closer. The door is red, shining with the rain, and he doesn't want to think what it looks like. He closes his eyes and counts off the breaths until he hears the faintest little sniffle inside the house. 

"Ella? Sweetheart, you in there?" 

It seems appropriate, so he crouches down and knocks at the door. 

"It's Mr. Stiles." 

Never could bring himself to call himself Mr. Stilinski. That just sounds wrong however you try to say it. 

"Sheriff Peg called me," he says. "She, uh, she told me what happened." 

The sniffles get louder, verging on sobs. 

Stiles bites his cheek. God, he is so not good with this stuff. He is so, so not good with his stuff. 

"I'm sorry, honey," he says, ignoring the wet grass and sitting down. "I know what happened and I am so, so sorry." He leans against the house, feeling the rain trickle down his collar, and how do you console a six year old with this stuff? He's pretty sure there aren't grief counselors equipped to handle the psychology of the tiny werewolf. 

If she _is_ a wolf. Derek mentioned human members of the family. 

Derek.

Hell. 

He's going to need to talk to Derek.

Stiles lets himself have about thirty seconds to panic over that, then he squares his shoulders and looks up at the sky. 

"I know you don't want to come out. I get it. I wasn't a whole lot older than you when my Mom died." And, right, that's going to be an awkward conversation to be had some day. At least he won't be tempted to trot out all the platitudes adults use. If Ella's a werewolf, she's going to see through them a mile away.

Hell, she'll do that anyway. Stiles is a lousy liar, be it man or wolf he's lying to. "Yeah," he says, trying not to feel the old aches where they're stirring. He's been good about leaving everything behind him. He's built a pretty good life here. He's got an apartment, a few casual friends, a bank account that's actually in the black and getting better. He's doing the adult thing pretty good. He doesn't have to feel like everything is wrong and he's one step away from disaster. Even when everything's _great_. He exhales heavily. "Yeah, I was kind of a mess about it. Hid under my bed every night for a week. My dad had to coax me out with oatmeal and blueberries every morning." The oatmeal had been too lumpy and the blueberries were frozen, so mostly he'd come out just so his dad would stop lying there looking so damn broken. 

The door swings open and Ella appears. She's a mess. Covered head to toe in soot, mud, and things Stiles doesn't want to think about, the only part of her that's clean is the tear tracks on her face.

"I don't like oatmeal," she sniffles. "Can I have shreddies instead?"

"Sure. You want blueberries or maybe strawberries instead?"

Ella rubs at her face. "Strawberries." 

Which is how Stiles ends up at an all-night grocery, picking up cereal and strawberries, ignoring the way the clerks stare at the filthy little girl in his cart. 

"They think you kidnapped me," Ella says, when he settles her into his jeep. She watches him fasten the seat-belt, clutching the teddy bear the firemen had given her. 

"Nope. That is not what they think." Okay, so it is, and they're probably on the phone to Peg at that very moment and she is going to get one hell of a laugh out of the whole thing. Which, yeah, at least someone will smile tonight.

Stiles gets his own seat-belt, then checks Ella's one more time before winking. "They think it's so sad. A little girl that sweet so afraid of soap. Tragedy for the _ages_. We're going to need to clean you up when we get to my place." He looks at the backseat and the ton of groceries he just bought. "Well, no, we're going to need to unpack all that and find the soap and tangle-free shampoo you wanted, _then_ you are going to clean up."

He looks at her. She stares back. At least, she tries. The adrenaline's started to wear off and her eyes are getting droopier by the second.

Stiles waits until she drops off before putting the jeep in gear and heading back to his apartment. 

She doesn't wake up through him unpacking the jeep, taking her out and carrying her inside, or when he wets a cloth and tries to gently wipe away some of the dirt. She only stirs when he settles her on his bed, then takes a blanket for himself.

Ella grabs his hand, holding tight, and wraps herself around his arm. 

Stiles had a plan. He was going to sleep on the floor so he was close when the nightmares started. It was going to be good, even if his back would totally hate him in the morning, but it doesn't even get out of the theoretical stage.

Instead, he ends up in an awkward sprawl on his bed with a six year old pinning his arm like a championship wrestler. His back still hates him in the morning, but at least nobody wakes up screaming.

For his first night as a father, Stiles is willing to call it a win.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has never been more glad for the fucking ton of issues that come with talking about home.

Ella gets lucky in one respect. Her family picked one hell of a small town to settle in. In terms of infrastructure, there isn't much. The mayor runs the post office, his aunt is Peg, and the local legal system consists of a couple judges who are semi-retired and sticklers for 'sir' and 'ma'am' in their court room.

They are, Stiles thinks, also in the know. It seems good business to Stiles. Find a few human locals, people in positions of use and who can be trusted, to share the secret with and go from there.

Which is why he's not surprised when Peg comes over with all the paperwork rubber-stamped and ready to go. "All temporary, of course," she says, looking at him. "But truth of the matter is, if you don't take her, I've got no idea what to do with her next."

Ella is curled up on Stiles' sofa, wearing one of his old Beacon Hills high t-shirts, still clutching that damn teddy bear and watching the latest kids show du jour as if it will reveal all the secrets of the universe.

He sighs and looks at Peg. "And you think I do."

Peg raises one dark eyebrow, smiling. "Don't you?"

Stiles stares down at his coffee. It was a beautiful thing, coffee. Beautiful, beautiful thing. It's not going to do a damn thing about the twinge in his back, but it'll help with the grit in his eyes. "Yeah," he says, "I have a few ideas." Ella will need a pack. Ella needs him, but Ella will need a pack. 

He exhales heavily. "Have you found a will? Papers? Anything to tell us if she has anyone else?"

She doesn't. Derek and Laura didn't. Something tells him that these hunters were even more careful than Kate. 

Dicks. Big, bag of rotten dicks. Big, bag of rotten dicks that left a witness. 

Stiles puts down his mug and looks at his apartment. There's not much here. Not much that he can't move in a hurry. He tries not to think about that. Always did. He's built a good life, but roots didn't exactly factor into it. 

His gaze shifts to Ella. "There's no one but me, is there?"

"No one that didn't die in that house," Peg sighs. "Trust me, we've been through everything. I remember her Daddy talking about this weekend. Was supposed to be the biggest reunion they'd had in years. _Everyone_ was coming." 

Which sounds familiar. Derek never talked much about the fire, but Stiles has pieced together some of it. Enough that he knows there was some big family ritual going on around the moon and everyone was there for it. Eleven people that time. Even more this time.

He has a feeling these hunters learned from Kate's mistakes. There's no Peter Hale to come back and tear them all to shreds six years later.

And to think, Stiles never actually thought he'd miss that bastard. Who knew?

He takes a long sip from his coffee, trying to compose his thoughts. "There are people," he says, finally. "People that know. They're supposed to have a Code. Rules. They're not supposed to hunt anyone who doesn't shed human blood." He puts down his mug and looks at her. 

Peg walks around him to pour her own cup of coffee. She takes an embarrassing amount of sugar in it and Stiles cringes, watching her pour it in, but he wisely says nothing. She's had a hell of a night; she's earned it.

"That Hale fire you mentioned--" she looks over the rim of her mug at him. "One of those times they didn't worry too much about the Code?"

"Worry?" Stiles snorts. "They obliterated it. Just like they did last night." Stiles drops his voice even more and turns back to Peg. "When they realize she's still alive--"

Peg nods. She doesn't say it. She doesn't need to. Hunters that murdered an entire family of werewolves aren't likely to think twice about finishing off a little girl.

Stiles really hates being human sometimes.

"If there's more of her kind out there," Peg says, equally quiet, "And you know where to find them? I suggest you find them fast and it'd be best you not tell anyone where you're going."

There are other packs in the area, Stiles has figured out there's at least two in the outlying counties, but he isn't going to bring this down on their heads. Besides, he doesn't know them. Doesn't know their Alphas. He's not going to turn up on their doorstep with a little girl who may, or may not, be a wolf and beg for sanctuary.

Not when he knows that, whatever else, Derek will help. 

"There's somewhere I can go." Stiles has never been more glad for the fucking ton of issues that come with talking about home. He can count on one hand the number of people he's had serious conversations with, even less of whom have heard a thing about Beacon Hills. Talking about it has always meant finding away around talking about the pack.

And Derek.

It's just always been easier avoiding it. He doesn't doubt that he'll be easily found if the hunters put any effort into it. It's all there on records at the school, at university, at a few other places and he knows the hunters have the connections to find it. 

He's buying time, but he'd like to buy more rather than less. 

Stiles looks at Ella. "We need to get the permanent stuff squared away. Can you fast-track that? We can't run the risk of someone taking her." This is so not even remotely close to legal, he knows that, but they both know what it would mean for Ella to be taken away and put in the human system. If she's not changing yet, when she does...

"We'll make sure of it," Peg promises. "You just get moving." 

Stiles signs the temporary papers and sends Peg off with the promise of more. Then he reaches for his phone and dials Scott's number.

"Yeah," he says, when Scott answers, "I'm gonna need some help." 

*

Ella gets a proper bath, a full breakfast, and Stiles throws everything important into bags, boxes, and stuffs them in the jeep. She watches all of it with her new bear in hand, solemn-faced and dry-eyed. "Where are we going?" she asks. 

"We're going to go visit my dad." Stiles picks her up, putting her in the front seat. He smiles. "There's a pack in my hometown. Good people. The Alpha's a bit grouchy, but I swear he's a total teddy bear at heart." He pokes the bear. "Just like this guy, in fact. Same eyebrows."

Ella's eyes brighten on the word pack, but she's genuinely smiled by the word Alpha. Derek's not going to stand a chance with this one and Stiles is actually looking forward to that. "You know about us?"

"Oh, yeah," Stiles nods. He smiles. "That's why Sheriff Peg called me. They already know we're coming. My friend went to tell the Alpha this morning." That makes him gulp a little, but he hopes it doesn't show. With the certainty of another pack, Ella seems better. Settled. 

She feels safe.

That's why Stiles hates knowing they're going to have to shatter that. 

"Sweetie, I gotta ask," he says, sliding into the jeep and closing the door. "Did you see anyone last night? The people that came to the house?"

Her smile dims and her grip tightens on the teddy bear. "Yes," she says, small and afraid. "Are they going to follow us?"

"They might," Stiles says. It's probably not the best idea to tell her that, but if she's got werewolf in her, there's not much chance of lying either. Truth or nothing now. "Don't worry. The Alpha? He's dealt with guys like them before. He won't let them anywhere near you."

"Or you!" Ella grabs onto his arm with the same ferocity she clutched her bear with. "You're coming too, right?"

He smiles and brings up his other hand to brush at the tears on her face. "Like you can get rid of me." 

She relaxes just a little. "I'm scared." 

"I know," he says. He tugs her into a hug. It's awkward, but it's good. She sniffles a bit, sobs, and they stay there for a while. "It's gonna be not good for a while, kiddo, but I promise that it'll get better."

He's going to make damn sure of it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is to blame for the Jacobsons death. Someone who isn't their daughter and no hairy way is Stiles ever letting her think otherwise. Maybe he'll never be able to convince Derek of the truth, but Ella? Ella he's going to win over or he is going to die trying.

He doesn't want to do it, but Stiles is pretty sure that he has to. He's not exactly an expert in traumatized kids, but just leaving without her ever seeing her house again seems wrong. No closure, or whatever. Stiles never did give much stock to things like closure, it didn't seem to do a damn bit of good for him and his dad, but Ella isn't them. There are actual people responsible for her mom's death; not an invisible disease that stole her away in inches. 

Actual people who are going to face actual consequences. Stiles has no idea how he's going to make sure that happens, but he's going to. He's kind of just signed on to be this little girl's dad (holy fuck, serious freak out about _that_ incoming) and he's willingly bringing her to a werewolf pack so she can be safe.

He is _responsible_ and he is going to make sure there is at least some fucking justice in this world. It took him way too long to realize the ins and outs of the Hale fire and Kate Argent's involvement (for a while there, figuring out Derek's byzantine and myriad intimacy issues had kind of been an obsession) but when he had? Whoo boy, those had been some unpleasant weeks. Day after day of jittery frustration that came with a need for vengeance that just wouldn't. go. away.

Part of Stiles is still pissed that he can't resurrect Kate again, just to kill her good and proper. Stiles thinks it perfectly understandable that he is scared as all fuck of that particular part of himself.

Which is not the point. Someone is to blame for the Jacobsons death. Someone who isn't their daughter and no hairy way is Stiles ever letting her think otherwise. Maybe he'll never be able to convince Derek of the truth, but Ella? Ella he's going to win over or he is going to die trying.

First, though, they have to get through the really, really painful parts. 

"Okay," he says, when they pull up in front of the big house on the edge of town. "We're just going to go in and get a few things for you." Which is true, they do need stuff, but she also needs to say goodbye and he's not going to stick around for the funeral so she can join them in the coffin. "If we think of something later, we can always send Sheriff Peg for it, or maybe one of the pack." He thinks they could do with an interstate run or two. 

Ella nods. She's staring up at the house. "I can't hear anyone inside. There's just the deputy-man. They're all gone," she says, mournful. "They're all gone and they're never coming back."

She doesn't cry this time. Stiles has a feeling she's pretty much all cried out for now. He slides out of the jeep and hurries around to Ella's side, looking around him while he does. "Hey, kiddo, question for you."

Ella hops out of the jeep, clinging to his side. "Uh huh?"

"How're those senses of yours?" He touches the tip of her nose and winks. "I couldn't tell a lie to save my life with my friends. They always knew." They knew everything. They knew what he lied about, what he dreamed about, and they knew who he loved. God, he hated that last one. It was bad enough being painfully in love with someone too damaged to love him back, but having everyone know? God. "Think you can tell us if someone is coming?"

Ella nods. "I can." She stops. "I think I can. I didn't last night."

Oh shit, wrong question. Stiles scoops her up onto his hip, holding her in place and swinging her around before she has time to think about it. The result is a little yip of excitement and she wraps her arms around his neck, holding on so tight there's no doubt as to the werewolf. 

"Careful, kiddo," he wheezes, "I kind of like breathing."

She just giggles a little, resting her head against his shoulder, and Stiles sends up a few prayers of gratitude. He's sure they're going to have a conversation about survivor's guilt some day, but at six, he's pretty sure Ella's not ready for it.

God knows, Derek still isn't. 

"Okay, we'll make this fast." Stiles ducks the police tape, nods at the deputy standing guard at the door, and carries her inside. Technically, they're removing evidence, but he figures a few family photographs and Ella's clothing aren't going to make or break the case against the hunters.

He's not sure there is going to be much of a case against the hunters. Not that it matters. Between the wolves and the other hunters, these guys probably won't make it to trial alive. 

Stiles sets Ella down and looks at her. "You know you can cry, right?" he asks, solemn as he can be. "I am totally okay with snot, tears, the whole shebang." He pauses. "Probably shouldn't wail or anything. The deputies'll think we're howling at the moon or something."

"It's _daytime_ ," Ella points out, looking at him with all the exasperation little children can manage toward the very strange adults in their lives. "Mr. Stiles, you're very strange sometimes."

"Ha," Stiles grins. "You think this is bad? Ask the Pack when we get there. I'm not even remotely warmed up yet. See, at school I'm supposed to be boring, professional, and, yeah, boring." Which is probably why there are weeks he spends more time in the Principal's office than the students do. Some things just never, ever change. "So, you know, there may be days where you get a little annoyed with me." 

"Never," Ella vows.

Stiles winks. "Deal." He holds out his hand. "So, how about we pick out a few pictures to take with us, then we go upstairs and get some clothes. And stuffed toys. And books. The jeep's got room enough that we can probably take the kitchen sink if we need it."

Ella shakes her head, gripping his hand tight. "Forget strange, Mr. Stiles," she says. "You're just weird."

"Weird's good," Stiles says, leading her into the living room. "Weird I can work with." 

*

Stiles takes the pictures they choose upstairs with him. There, he watches Ella throw stuffed toys into her suitcase while he quickly rids the pictures of their frames. The frames are too big, too bulky, and bugs are too easily hidden inside them. 

He is worried mostly about the tracking devices. Hunters have connections. His dad still vets every single person that joins the department and double-checks any of the state and federal guys that pass through town. He doesn't know if Peg does that, but he's not willing to take the risk. Anyone on the department could have just waltzed right in and stuck something in one of Ella's teddy bears or her favorite sweaters; if they know she's alive, they've had time to do it. 

Why bother killing just one pack when you can get two instead?

The mere thought of it makes Stiles work faster. No fucking way they're getting Derek's pack too.

*

Ella works faster too. By the time he's done with the pictures and paid a quick visit to the Jacobson's bedroom for Ella's mom's jewelry (he has no idea what's an heirloom and what isn't, so fuck it, he's taking everything) she's filled up a couple boxes, her suitcases, and her school backpack is on her shoulders and looking a little bulge-ridden.

"Ready to go?" 

She nods once, quick, then breaks his heart all over again by looking around her room one last time. "Daddy was going to paint it for my birthday," she says, quiet and lost. "I wanted purple."

"Purple it is," Stiles says, picking boxes. He nudges the suitcases and decides they're light enough that, yes, Ella can move them. Yay, werewolves. "When we get to my Dad's house, we'll go to the paint shop. You can have the whole rainbow if you want." He pauses, thinks about that, then grins. "Actually, if the pack is feeling up to it, there can be actual designs." God knows, Lydia can design like a fiend if her and Jackson's Facebook is to be believed. 

Ella manages a little smile, but Stiles isn't stupid enough to think she's happy about it. He gave his Dad a few of those smiles back in the day. 

Which is precisely why he sits on the stairs, puts the boxes aside, and tugs the overburdened little girl into his arms for another hug. "I have no idea what I'm doing with the dad thing, okay?" he says, quiet and serious. Wanting her to understand this first of all. "So, trust me, you don't have to pretend to like something if you don't want to. If there are veggies that you hate, feel free to say so, and we'll argue about them like normal people before I tell you that, yes, you are a little kid and therefore your steak cannot actually be mooing--actually, scratch that. You're six. You're too little to appreciate a good steak."

"Can I have McDonald's instead?" Ella asks. "Steak is okay, but hamburgers are the _best_."

"Dear god," Stiles says, looking at her. "You haven't even met my Dad yet, and you're already eating like him." He's doomed. So, so doomed.

Ella brightens enough to giggle a little. "Will he buy me hamburgers too?"

Stiles smirks. He's pretty sure his father's ever given up on the idea of grandchildren, so him turning up with Ella? Going to raise some serious hallelujahs in the Stilinski kitchen. Also, being as adorable as she is, Stiles is pretty sure his Dad is going to take one look at the new granddaughter and buy out every kid's section in town. 

Assuming Lydia and Allison don't beat him to it. 

Speaking of which, a sinking feeling going hand in hand with the realization that steals over him. Ella is totally going to be the pack's little sparkly princess. They are going to _ruin_ her for bedtimes, proper meals, and brushing her teeth? 

Not good. Not anywhere close to good. 

The depressing thoughts (seriously, keeping discipline with that many aunties and uncles willing to pick up for her? God, that's awful) actually do fade a little when Stiles realizes that it comes with the super-helpful image of Derek and the rest of the pack wrapped neat as a pin around Ella's pinkie.

He's going to want pictures of that. Big, burly werewolves falling all over a tiara-wearing first grader.

Hell, he'll even buy her the tiara. 

"Come on, kiddo," he says, getting up again. "Let's get this in the jeep. If we get moving, we can hit the McDonald's a few towns over. We've got a long way to go before we hit home." 

*

Now would be the perfect time for a Robert Frost poem, but fortunately, Stiles teaches first grade and not high school English. He's _allowed_ to forget that stuff in favor of glue sticks and glitter pens.

Some people might be surprised at his career choice, but not Stiles. He gets to play with glitter pens and glue sticks for living. There is absolutely no bad to that. 

Watching Ella curl over her happy meal, picking apart the hamburger to eat in careful, dainty portions (she is absolutely the cutest werewolf ever and if anyone argues, Stiles will _end them_ ), Stiles is sure of it. He wishes she wasn't hurting, but she's, uh, well, _his_ sort of? It's wrong to think of her as his little girl yet, but he's going to and nothing can dent that feeling. 

Not even when his phone chimes with a text from Peg.

'Jcbsn house xplded. Gas lk. BS. Get. Moving.'

Stiles sighs and closes his eyes. "Eat up, munchkin," he says. "We need to get moving." His own meal is eaten with one hand. The other keeps a tight hold on his phone as he pecks out another message to Scott.

"It's not good news, is it?" Ella asks through a mouthful of fries. Stiles is actually weirdly happy to see her doing something that normal. Like, really, weirdly happy, even though he has to pluck fries out of her mouth and scold her quietly about choking. 

"No, it's not," he says, "But it won't be. Not for a while and that's okay. You just let me worry about it and we'll go from there, okay?"

She nods. "Okay."

Which is great. It's wonderful. It's settled. Stiles has no idea what he's doing, but at least he's faking it good.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Derek, relationships and everything that comes with them are nothing but one massive minefield of trauma and self-loathing just waiting to be triggered.
> 
> Stiles has done a _lot_ of research about this.

They cross the state line around midnight. It's stupid, but as soon as Stiles knows he's in California, something in his chest loosens and he can _breathe_. The tension he's been carrying around since the phone rang doesn't dissipate; it just gets a little easier to carry and easier is most definitely welcome to join the party. 

He taps his fingers against the steering wheel, blinks a little, and considers cracking the window. If he keeps going at the rate they are, Stiles thinks they can probably make Beacon Hills by morning or early afternoon.

It's a tantalizing idea, but he needs sleep. The days of an extra Adderall saving the day and adrenaline banishing the Sandman are long behind him. He stops in the first little town he can find that has a motel. 

Asleep in the passenger's seat, stranglehold on her bear (who may, or may not, have been named for a certain Alpha of his acquaintance and, oh yeah, Derek's going to kill him for that one) Ella makes a sleepy mumble of protest when Stiles unbuckles her and picks her up. 

"Gotta get you a bed, kiddo," he says, letting her tuck her head into the curve of his neck. She's out in seconds, her legs hanging loose against his sides, arm draped over his shoulder. 

The woman behind the counter is a tiny thing with white hair and, yeah, Stiles puts her at about three days older than God. She lights up like the Fourth when he walks through the door with the sleeping Ella in his arms, hustling out from behind the counter to take a peek. "Oh, now, isn't she just the sweetest little thing. She must be a perfect angel."

Stiles grins and tries to think what a dad would say. "Try unholy terror," he says, meaning every word. Ella's the best. He didn't know you could have a spirited debate with a first grader until he'd met her. Stiles is still reasonably sure most of the class'd had no idea what they were talking about when they argued, but he expects she'll end up ruling the world if Lydia doesn't get there first. "She can have her _moments._ "

"Don't they all? If you knew even half of the things my Jeremy got into." She makes a face. "I spent half my life waiting up on that boy and everyone thought he was a little angel."

"That sounds familiar," Stiles says, edging up to the counter. Ella's always looked like a tiny little thing, but carrying her has disproved that particular theory. He perches her on the edge of it and looks back at their hostess. "Everyone thought the same thing about me, but at home I was raising serious hell." 

He decides not to mention that most of _that_ happened during puberty, thanks to the werewolf pack that followed him home one day, or that the hell-raising had been actually literal. Technically the only werewolf to follow him home was Derek, but only by virtue of Scott already knowing where he lived and, yeah, there had been actual raising of actual hell, but that had only been the one time and totally accidental.

Lydia's archaic Egyptian? Not as good as her archaic Latin. At least Anubis had been the forgiving type, unlike Stiles' dad who was still holding a grudge. 

It wasn't like they'd taken out the entire living room. Just the one sofa. "Some days, I think it's probably a miracle that my dad didn't kill me." His dad. Derek. A few dozen others.

"Sounds like my Jeremy too, but that's another story for another time. You're dead on your feet and you need to get that little one into a bed pronto." The little woman beams again and plucks a key off the wall.

"How much for the room?" Stiles asks, fumbling for his wallet.

"On the house," she says. 

Stiles squints suspiciously, starting to take a step back toward the door.

"Oh, don't run Mr. Stilinski," the little woman—Nell—says, her smile gentling into something less blinding and, somehow, more genuine. "Alan thought that you might need a safe place to rest. No hunters will find you or your little one here." 

He gapes. "You—how the hel—heck do you know Dr. Deaton?"

For his astonishment, Stiles gets a gentle, amused smile and another blanket on his shoulder (just in case, Nell insists, Ella needs it) before she pats his cheek. "There was a time, honey, when you couldn't throw a rock without hitting a member of that family. The Hales were responsible for California. For the most part, they were good people. They kept trouble from the door, defended their territories and protected everyone in them. It might not be much, but in return some of us would provide safe territory for any of them traveling."She lifts her chin in defiance. "And whatever the Argents might say about it, we refuse to withhold that sanctuary now. Especially not for someone traveling under the Hale name. Go sleep, Mr. Stilinski," she says, "Get that little one tucked in. You both need the rest."

Stiles can't argue that one. They do. His eyes are drooping and he nearly walks into the door on the way out. He needs to lie down and rest before he falls down and, yes, given his complete lack of anything approaching coordination, this needs to happen sooner, rather than later.

If only because Ella will never let him hear the end of it. 

*

Stiles finds the room on autopilot. He's still mulling over everything that Nell told him. He's done enough research (including a little genealogy where Derek's family is concerned) about packs and territories in California to know that part of her story was true. He's too exhausted to really think about it, so he pokes it in the back of his mind. There it'll have enough time and privacy to work itself out. Stiles has done it more than once so he focuses on not tripping and dropping Ella as he slides the key into the lock of the motel room door. 

It's a good choice. Closest to the parking lot, right on the end of the building, and if needs be, it would be fairly defensible from a tactical standpoint. There are enough windows to make a quick exit and the treeline's close. It wouldn't take much to get out one and make for the safety of the woods. 

It's both reassuring to know and creepy that he actually thinks about it. Deciding not to think about it anymore, Stiles nudges the door open with his hip and then shuffles into the room. The bag he's carrying gets eased onto the bed, then Ella is placed there just as carefully. Stiles takes a second to flick on the light and look around.

It's not exactly the Hilton, but it's clean, neat, and hey, look, _bed_. For that alone, he's willing to pronounce the motel room fit for use. Stiles does a mental 'yay' and then focuses on Ella. She barely wakes up when he settles her on the bed and starts digging for her pjs in the bag he brought in with them.

He finds them in short order and works on getting her changed. Time spent wrestling little kids into their jackets comes in handy, though it's considerably harder work when the child in question is dead to the world and he's trying not to wake her up. 

He manages. Its tricky, but he manages. When he's done, he tucks her beneath the worn covers and crouches down by the bed. She's turned toward him, arm wrapped tight around her bear, and he thinks he should probably call his Dad. Turning up on his doorstep with a traumatized six year old in tow isn't exactly the homecoming either of them would imagine. 

Yeah, he needs to. He's exhausted, but he needs to call. He brushes a kiss over Ella's head and stands. Try as he might, Stiles can't stop the yawn that threatens to split his face. He needs to sleep, but he can't. Not yet. He has to call his father and he has to—shit, he has no idea. He stumbles a few steps away from the bed and leans against the wall. He's supposed to be somebody's dad now. He's supposed to know what to do with the hunters chasing them, a mysterious old woman giving them sanctuary in the middle of nowhere and, oh shit, his cellphone is ringing.

The fear of waking Ella stabs through him and he yanks the phone out of his pocket, relieved to feel the impending panic attack settle. Breathing deep, he glances at Ella to confirm she's still asleep. Then he frowns, looks at the phone, and hits talk. "Keep it brief, Derek," he says, "Ella's down for the count and I don't want to wake her."

Derek's silent for a moment. A tiny, mean part of Stiles enjoys the satisfaction of having caught him off-guard. Ah, the wonders of ringtones and caller id. 

He settles on the same bed as Ella, curling himself around her. She responds by cuddling into him. So she's sensitive to noises, but not the sound of his voice. Stiles grins a bit at that. He's still counting his victories and that feels like a big one. 

"Where are you?" Derek asks, finally. He's on his cell. Stiles thinks, maybe, he can hear the sound of traffic in the background. 

"A little motel just over the state line. Needed to sleep." Stiles bites his cheek then decides to tell him about Nell. The story spills out of him in a quick burst of information and he only yawns once. Yay. "She seems legit, but if I need to be running for our lives, now would be a good time to tell me."

"She's fine," Derek replies. "I remember her." Wow, a ringing endorsement if Stiles ever heard one. "How is Ella?"

"Worn out. Scared. Traumatized. Pretty much every adjective you can think of to describe being completely heart-broken." Stiles runs his free hand over Ella's hair and smiles. "She's strong, though, and telling her about the pack waiting for her helped a lot." He closes his eyes and lets himself relax a little. Weird how even talking to Derek on the phone helps. It's not something he really wants to be thinking about, but he can't ignore the way the tension is slowly draining out of his body. "I, uh, maybe hinted around a bit that you'd understand her situation. I thought it might help with, you know, the whole bonding thing." Which he's actually a little nervous about. He doesn't know, precisely, who the Alpha in Ella's pack was. He's not sure how it will work with him being her dad and Derek being her Alpha. 

She needs a pack, no questions about it, but Stiles opens his eyes to look at her. He's barely been a father for a day and he's already afraid of losing her. 

"It's fine," Derek says, startling him. "And it will help." He pauses, thinking, and Stiles would give just about anything to know what about. His heart beats faster as the silence stretches out between them. Its been years since they spoke, years since they were in each other's presence, and years since he had to deal with the feelings that are creeping back into him. Damn it. Derek's sneaky like that. Make him relax, sure, but wait a bit and all he wants are things Derek can never give him.

It's okay, it is. It's not like Stiles doesn't understand. Even without the fire, knowing what he does now about Kate Argent's role in it, he gets just how much Derek was messed up by everything. His first love led to the murder of his entire family. For Derek, relationships and everything that comes with them are nothing but one massive minefield of trauma and self-loathing just waiting to be triggered.

Stiles has done a _lot_ of research about this. He's had to in order to come to peace with it. 

Whether he's succeeded or not, he can't tell. 

Guess he's going to find out.

"You should probably stay at the house when you get here," Derek says, finally, sounding strange when he says it. "She'll need the pack."

"She will, but not right away," Stiles says, even though the idea of staying in Derek's house makes his heart beat triple time. He knows what needs to happen. "We've got to get this whole father-daughter thing figured out before we try and bring pack dynamics into it." 

Derek makes a noise. Stiles has no idea what it means, but he's a little charmed by it anyway and that is so many levels of wrong that he can't even begin to unpack them. "You can do that at the house."

"No, we can't, and you know it. Look, Scott, Allison and Isaac are all living across the street from my Dad. We'll bring her out to the house all the time. I just—" Stiles lowers his voice. "I have no idea what I'm doing, Derek. She's my responsibility and she needs me and—I need to figure out how this works for us before I make it any more complicated on all of us. She needs to be able to keep the Dad thing and the Alpha thing separate and I don't think that'll happen with both of us under the same roof all the time."

He can _feel_ Derek's frown, but he also has the feeling that, maybe, Derek gets it. "Fine," he says, finally, still sounding a little off. Worried, maybe? Stiles could never read Derek well when they saw each other every day. Now it's trickier and Stiles isn't going to pretend otherwise. He's mystified right now. "But you will have a room with the pack for when you need it."

"Is it weird that makes me feel better?" 

Derek hangs up on him.

Stiles thumbs the phone off and grins. "Nope. Not weird at all."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sounds about right," Dad says, still chuckling. "Not going to lie to you, son, this isn't going to be easy. If you were anyone else, I'd say it's probably the hardest thing you've ever done."
> 
> "But?"
> 
> "But you spent your teen years running around with a pack of werewolves, almost dying every five minutes, and trying to save the world. There aren't many parents who can say they've got that behind them."

They wake early with the need to be back on the road and back on the move, but Nell insists on feeding them first, with enough leftovers to keep them going through the rest of the drive. 

"The hunters won't follow you yet," Nell says, following them out to the jeep with the basket of leftovers in hand. "If they even know who has the little girl, they won't know which direction you've taken."

Stiles doesn't really want to know how she even knows that. Really. It's strange, always has been, but he still remembers the unease that had stolen over him with the realization of just how many things were recorded in the Argent bestiary. "They can figure it out," he says. "Once they know I'm the one who has her, they'll look up my school records and find my hometown."

"By then you'll be with the pack," Nell puts the basket in the backseat, on the floor, then stops by the driver's side door. She lays a hand on Stiles' where it rests on the open window and squeezes once. "Where you both should be." 

"I'm not pack," Stiles says. There's no bitterness in the words. There never was. He was frustrated, in the beginning, by the weird relationship between himself, the pack, and Derek. Not anymore. There's a lot of years between that kid and him. "But she's going to be." 

Nell just smiles. "You'd best get going." 

Stiles makes a face at that smile, feeling a lot younger than he wants to be. The whole werewolf thing will never be anything but cool (even when it's been skin-crawlingly horrifying, it's still been _cool_ ) but the part where strange, somewhat mystical people with knowing smiles and a ton of secrets behind those smiles keep drifting in and out of his life? 

Yeah, that part is never going to be anything but _annoying_.

Stiles waits until he's away from the motel, putting the tiny town in his rearview, before he pulls out his phone again and calls his Dad. "So, uh," he says, just as soon as the call connects, "It's me. By any chance have you seen Scott today?"

It's probably a good thing that his Dad's already had the werewolf talk. Had it years ago with Scott and Isaac providing the helpful demonstration to back up everything he'd been saying. 

It had, well, not gone _well_ , but it had least filled in the dots for his dad and explained more than a few things that he'd never officially been able to explain. Stiles knows his father tries to keep out of pack business as much as possible, if only for appearances sake. Even without Stiles and his connection to Derek's pack, Stiles knows his Dad and what had probably happened when he'd left that night. Chris Argent had gotten a knock on his door that came with a few warnings (complete with an or else or two) that probably put the Beacon Hills police force square at the top of the hunters list. 

That's definitely when his dad had started seriously vetting all his new hires. The Argents might have people in the department, but his dad knows who they are and who they talk to. 

He'd had years since to get used to the whole 'werewolves are people' concept, so Stiles isn't surprised at all when he hears a quiet thread of fury in his father's voice. "Oh yeah," he says, "Scott came over right after you called. You've got Derek and his people all riled up. Been talking to Peg too. She emailed over the case. Pretty nasty business you landed yourself in."

"Just my luck," Stiles agrees. "So, uh, did she mention the other thing?"

"She might have. Something about the final paperwork clearing. You feel like telling me yourself?" That comes out with a weary amusement and, wow, yeah, this is just like old times. 

He's tempted to ask if Mr. Harris has detention all lined up or not.

Stiles grins and looks at Ella. She's sitting up, her bear buckled in beside her, trying in vain to neatly colour a picture. "You might want to grab Lydia and Allison and head down to the store. We're going to need furniture for a little girl. Oh, and some purple paint would be good too. Ella wants a purple room." 

"Ella." His dad's voice softens. "A granddaughter, huh?"

"Yup," Stiles agrees. "She's had a rough couple of days, so I thought we should get a headstart on you spoiling her rotten." Also, he hopes, get the paint done first so the smell has time to air out of the room. Not that she'll be sleeping by herself for a while. He's still waiting for those nightmares to start and he intends on being right there with her when they do. 

"Oh, I have no problems with that," Dad replies. "But what about you?"

Stiles laughs. "Remember how you felt when you brought me home?" He's heard the story before. Knows his dad got so freaked out about maybe dropping his son or hurting him somehow, that he threw up almost every time he had to pick Stiles up. 

"Yeah," that gets him a chuckle, "I remember."

"Like that but with less vomit." 

"Sounds about right," Dad says, still chuckling. "Not going to lie to you, son, this isn't going to be easy. If you were anyone else, I'd say it's probably the hardest thing you've ever done."

"But?"

"But you spent your teen years running around with a pack of werewolves, almost dying every five minutes, and trying to save the world. There aren't many parents who can say they've got that behind them." There's genuine pride in his dad's voice now. It's not really that new of a thing to hear, his dad's never been the type to hide that, but it still makes Stiles sit up straight to realize that pride translates into confidence. The kind of confidence that makes his dad think he can raise a six year old. "Can't think of anyone better to be doing this, Stiles. That little girl hit rock bottom and the jackpot all in one day." 

Stiles looks at Ella. She's holding a red crayon and looking back at him. Right. She can hear every word his dad's saying. 

She smiles and goes back to her coloring book. He hooks his cell against his ear and reaches over to brush a hand over her hair. "Maybe," he says, "but I'm pretty sure she's not the only one." 

His dad hesitates. It's the kind of silence that Stiles recognizes as loaded. "Peg told me about your other little potential problem too. Think I'll swing by Derek's on the way to the store." 

Stiles swallows. "Yeah, that would probably be a good idea. I don't think we'll have any issues yet, but--" 

But they'll be coming. There's no chance that they won't. 

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but you should probably talk to Chris Argent too."

His dad sighs. "He called just before you did. Wanted to make sure I knew this wasn't sanctioned. Ella won't have anything to fear from him, but those men might." 

Stiles isn't sure what to do with Chris Argent. Part of him hates the man, but part of him doesn't know. Sure, Allison's dad has a rigid, rigid devotion to the code, but Stiles has always had the feeling that maybe it was a little more than that. That, maybe, it wouldn't take much to push him wholeheartedly into the werewolves camp.

It's never been something he's actually _addressed_ , but it's there. Another one of those puzzles he likes to ponder in the back of his mind.

"Good," Stiles says, hoping to keep the fury out of his voice. "We should be home in a few hours. Ella's thinking burgers for dinner."

His father chuckles. "My kinda girl. I'll get the grill ready too."

Stiles bites his lip then says, to the glee of everyone in earshot, "I'll pick up the curly fries."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We were a train that never got around to wrecking." Mostly because it just never left the station. He looks at Derek. "Whatever else is going on doesn't matter. We have got to figure this out, because it is not going to affect her. Got it? It _isn't._ "
> 
> Derek nods. "Got it."

The scenery starts getting familiar the closer they get to town and Stiles' heart starts speeding up. He relaxed when they first crossed back into California and familiar territory, but that's starting to change. He can feel fear creeping back into every breath, now that they're close to home, to the pack, and to safety. 

Stiles has seen every horror movie (decent or godawful) in the past two decades. It's when you think you're safe that you really start to worry. He's worrying now and he needs to get it back under control. Ella will _hear_.

"Mr. Stiles..." Ella stops and frowns. "That's not right. I'm not supposed to call you that anymore, am I?" Distress creeps onto her face and, yeah, this is not good. Not good at all. Stiles can see her starting to figure out the ramifications of what's happening. Her parents are dead, she has a new dad, a new pack, and a new home, and if she really thinks about it, she's going to have a first class panic attack. 

Which, to be fair, is a Stilinski family tradition, but not one he wanted to pass on to the next generation. 

"Hang on." Since this isn't a conversation to be had in a moving vehicle, Stiles pulls off to the side of the road and looks at her. That's not good enough so he shuts off the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, turning to face her. She does the same, grabbing her bear and hugging it close.

"Okay, yeah, this is not really one I wanted to be talking about yet, but you always were two steps ahead of everybody else--way cool that, by the way--so we will. Truth is, it's a tricky one. I mean, technically, right now, the law says I'm your dad. Legally I'm responsible for your well-being. I've got to make sure you've got all those necessities of life that we talked about in school once." 

Stiles has a firm policy. If they want to know, then they can ask. They might not get their answer (because, hello, he learned that one after the first 'my uncle has a boyfriend...' question, thank you kid with the perpetually runny nose) but they can ask.

"That means a place to live, clothes, food, the occasional tickle fight and those really gross veggies nobody ever wants to eat. But there's a lot more to being a dad and part of that is you. Just because I'm your dad on a piece of paper doesn't mean I'm your dad in here yet." He points at her chest. "That part is going to take time and there's no predicting how much. So, until that happens, you can call me whatever you want. If that means you want to call me Mr. Stiles, or just Stiles, or Hey You With the Face then you can go right ahead and do it." He leans down to press his forehead against hers, not missing it when she snuggles closer and rubs her cheek against his. "If you're not ready for a long time, that's okay."

"Okay," she says, her smile shy. "But I don't think Hey You With the Face is very nice. You have a nice face. All the teachers at school think so." She dimples. "I'm not supposed to know."

He winks. "My what big ears you have?" Oh, hey, now there's a thought. "Do werewolves have their own fairytales?" 

Ella nods. "I brought the book." She smiles a little wider. "Mom let me keep it in my room." 

Werewolf fairytales. God, to get a look at those. Stiles lets himself ponder Little Red Riding Hood in the original werewolf before realizing Ella had started all this with a question that had never gotten asked. "Now, you were going to ask me something?" 

"Uh huh." Ella points at his chest the way he had hers. "Your heart. It's all fast like you're scared." 

Damn freaky werewolf hearing. He sighs and nods. "Yes, it was and, yes, I guess I sort of am. It's been a long time since I've been home. I've changed a lot and so have they. It'll be strange seeing everyone," Derek, "again. I'm not sure how it's going to go." He pauses, then admits, "Plus, adults get weird about things sometimes. Everything's gone so well, I can't help thinking that now's when it's supposed to go all wrong. It won't, of course, because real life's not a movie, but sometimes, it feels like one and--okay, why are you looking at me like that?" Because Ella is staring at him with wide eyes and a worried look. "Seriously, honey, what is it?" 

Ella squares her shoulders and leans in to whisper. Being a little girl, her whisper is anything but when she says, "There's someone in the woods." She taps her nose. "Wolf."

Stiles blinks. He sits up and takes a good look around them. Oh, to be able to mutter words that Ella should never ever hear. 

"Of _course_ he is." He leans past Ella to roll down the window and shout. "Ten years and you're _still_ creeping in the woods?" 

A polite rap on his window makes him jump. 

Ella, of course, bursts into giggles. "Wrong woods." 

Stiles looks at her and makes a face. "Werewolves."

Trying to regain what little remains of his dignity, Stiles turns around to look at Derek Hale and his tiny smirk of triumph. Great. Derek and Ella haven't even officially met and they're already colluding to freak him out.

Not even remotely cool. 

"Smug jerk is _not_ a good look on you," Stiles says, folding his arms and refusing to put down the window. Which doesn't really slow Derek's smirk down one bit. "I miss grim look, doom look, and my favorite, complete as--" Right. Swear jar. He makes a mental note to invest in one and meets Derek's gaze. 

And, uh, okay, wow. Not prepared for that, not prepared for that _at all_. His heart does something awkward and uncomfortable and Stiles refuses to do anything so stupid as acknowledge it. Emotion or cardiomyopathy, only his doctor will ever know for sure. 

Derek opens the door and leans in, one forearm resting on the roof of the car. It brings him uncomfortably close to Stiles and, wow, yeah, the years have been seriously, seriously kind. 

They stare at each other for a moment. Awkward. Stiles looks at him and tries how to break the tension. His brain goes blank and thank God for the little girl in the car because Ella does it for him. She reaches out, one little hand closing around Stiles' fingers and holding on tight as she presses close.

Right. Somebody has an attack of the shys. 

Stiles smiles a little as she presses her cheek into his arm, tipping her head enough that she can peer out around him to look at Derek. Serious, serious attack of the shys. 

So, right, this isn't going to be a loaded moment at all. Stiles breathes deep. He should probably make introductions or something. "So, yeah," he says, "We should probably do this right, yeah?"

Derek flicks a look at him and then straightens up, putting distance between himself and the jeep. 

"Right," Stiles says, looking from one wolf to the other. "Ella Jacobson-Stilinski, this is Derek Hale. Derek, this is Ella. My daughter..." he gives himself credit for not stumbling over the word even a little. "And your new pack member." He looks back at Ella and winks. "Gonna have to say hello sooner or later, kiddo. Remember what I said."

She looks up at him dubiously. "Uh huh." 

"Yeah, well, it's all true." He leans in, whispering, "Biggest marshmallow _ever_." 

Stiles looks back and smirks when he catches Derek rolling his eyes. "Oh, like I'm wrong. I hear stories, Derek. I hear many, many stories." 

"Don't believe a word Erica says."

"I wasn't talking about Erica." Stiles gets out of the jeep and holds out his hands to Ella. The little girl responds by launching herself into his arms and wrapping herself around him like a very teeny, very adorable octopus. Seriously, freaking adorable. "I was talking about Isaac. He informs me that you are a hit among his teeny patient set."

Stiles still finds it the height of hilarity that the town doc is a werewolf. He would find it funnier that Erica works for his dad, but really? Isaac wears a pocket protector, carries stickers and lollipops in his pockets, and has all the soccer moms swooning over his curls.

That is serious comedy _gold_.

"He's lying," Derek grumbles, but there is dimple action going on. Heh. The Alpha is _blushing_. 

And Ella is giggling into his ear so, you know, excellent. Stiles is pleased all around. He shifts so that Derek can get a good look at the little girl in his arms. Ella freezes, mid giggle, and stares back at him. "Hi," she says, shy and quiet. 

Bless him, Derek ducks his head and smiles a little. Stiles is going to buy every single one of Isaac's patients a lollipop if this is the result their influence got him. "Hi." 

A real verbose bunch; werewolves. Stiles can see why they keep him around. They'd never _talk_ otherwise. "So, yeah, Derek is the Alpha of the pack I mentioned." 

Ella cuddles closer, resting her head on Stiles' shoulder. "You're going to stop the hunters?"

Derek straightens up and his smile fades. Right, this isn't a happy go-lucky conversation. "If they find you here? Yes." He moves closer and leans into Stiles space, touching Ella's cheek with one finger. "I'm sorry." 

Stiles feels it when the tears start. Yeah, side of the road is not the place he would have chosen for this, but there's never really going to be a place for this kind of pain. He leans against the open door, crooning nonsense as he rocks Ella back and forth. 

For his part, Derek stays close. Stiles knows its probably a pack thing. He keeps his hand on her neck the entire time, thumb stroking back and forth, but Stiles doesn't really care why. He's just so fucking glad that Derek's here. 

So much so that he's not even a little bit annoyed by the way Derek is staring at him. 

*

"I still think you should be staying at the house." 

"And I think you should be in the backseat," Stiles grumbles, but without much heat in it. How can he be cranky at the sight of a tiny blonde six year old using the Big Bad Wolf as her own personal pillow? Ella's cuddled into Derek, her teddy bear trapped between her arm and Derek's chest, sound asleep. "That is violating some serious traffic laws."

Derek gives him a look and adjusts his hold on Ella. "She's fine, Stiles. Perfectly safe."

"And if we have an accident?" 

That gets him another look. "Perfectly. Safe." Derek grits the words out like its twelve years ago and those first few months after Scott's bite, but there's no heat behind it either. None of the old anger. "She needs to get used to my scent, Stiles." And she needs to smell like pack to the others. Stiles gets it. He's done the research, read the books, even written a few of his own (not that anyone who isn't Derek's pack will ever read them. He left those with Derek when he left) and he knows how this shit works, but seriously? 

She's his little girl and she's supposed to be wearing a seatbelt. Derek's just going to have to deal with the suspicious looks.

"I'll die myself before I let anything happen to her," Derek says, and, oh yeah, means every word of it. Stiles knows that look. He knows all of Derek's looks, embarrassingly enough, and that one is right up there. 

"Good, because anything does, I'm going to be the one killing you." Yeah, Stiles kind of means that one too and, wow, he's not prepared for that at all. Like, seriously not. He tightens his grip on the wheel and tries to keep his heart from pounding out of his chest. "So, uh, yeah, I'd apologize for that, but—"

"I wouldn't ask you to," Derek says. "You may have to do exactly that."

"Kill you?"

"Kill. You know who will come for her if they get the chance. You know what they'll do." Derek keeps his voice low, but Stiles doesn't miss the way the hand on Ella's back slides up to cover her ear. "You don't know what you'll need to do to protect her."

Stiles almost grins. "I started with abandoning my job and my life." Not much of a loss, but fuck, he's going to need to get a doctor stat. Prescriptions do not write themselves. "Whatever she needs, you know? Which is what you're doing here, right?"

"Your dad came by," Derek says. "I thought it would be a good idea for one of us to come out here and escort you in. After that, it wasn't much of a jump to it being me." 

"She needs to meet you before she meets the others."

"Basically," Derek nods. "I'll take things slow. She doesn't need us overwhelming her with a bunch of new faces and scents." 

"So, uh, has she—" Stiles bites his lip. "Am I going to need to get some pint-sized pink chains?"

Derek almost grins at that. "No. She's got a few years ahead of her before she changes, but she'll start showing more and more signs as she gets older."

"Like the enhanced senses." Stiles nods. "She's got those in spades. Okay, so no changing yet. Good." He changes lanes and glances back again. There's no one, but that doesn't stop him looking and looking and looking some more. "So, uh, we should probably do the catching up thing at some point." He looks at Ella then at Derek. "Seems we'll be spending a lot of time around each other again and, yeah, should probably avoid any hostility for a while. Won't be good for her."

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Hostility?"

"Oh, do not give me that face," Stiles snorts. "You cannot sit there with that much scruff and play innocent. It just does not work. You and me? We practically defined the word. You with the slamming and the growling and me—yeah, mostly you with the slamming and the growling." 

The answer he gets to that is a soft snicker. 

"Be thankful there is a small child in the jeep," Stiles mutters. "Otherwise I'd be saying some _words_ right now." 

So. Many. Words.

He shakes his head. "Whatever. We'll figure it out. We haven't got a choice."

"We're fine, Stiles," Derek says. "We always were."

"Not even close," Stiles says. "We were a train that never got around to wrecking." Mostly because it just never left the station. He looks at Derek. "Whatever else is going on doesn't matter. We have got to figure this out, because it is not going to affect her. Got it? It _isn't._ "

Derek nods. "Got it." 

"Good." 

Now if Stiles could just figure out what the hell he means by that, things would be _perfect_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he does half as well with Ella as his father has with him, Stiles thinks she'll turn out pretty damn incredible.

Derek doesn't say anything more about staying with him, but Stiles can feel the disapproval when he pulls up in front of his own house and puts the jeep in park. It's not like Stiles didn't expect that, because he did. He does. He expects it to keep cropping up again and again and again, partly because Derek is an Alpha and that's his responsibility, but partly...

Well, partly because there's still a part of Derek that's sixteen years old, standing in front of a burned out shell of a home, with the smell of his family's death hanging acrid in the air.

He's never, ever going to be satisfied without his pack close, but especially Ella. Stiles gets that. He gets how hard it has to be for Derek to look at the little girl in his arms and know that she'll deal with the same emptiness that he does every day. 

It's enough to make Stiles reconsider, second-guess himself, but he knows better. He knows that he and Ella need time to figure out how to be them before they try to be pack. As much as he wants to erase that tension in Derek's eyes, he just can't yet. 

He look up to see his dad step out onto the porch. A little more grey this year, a few lines, and hey, a couple pounds less than he used to be. Stiles gives the thumbs up of approval and then looks at Ella and Derek.

Derek doesn't tug Ella closer, but he definitely takes his time waking the little girl up. To be fair, Ella doesn't seem in that big a hurry. Stiles feels a pang of guilt about that too. Being the bad guy is one of the few downsides to being a teacher that Stiles has found. No shock that it's going to be one of his least favorite parts of parenting too.

Still, he doesn't have to admit it if he doesn't want to. Upside of being a parent--the option of embracing the bullshit. 

"Okay," he says, looking at the sleepy-eyed Ella. "We have officially arrived. I know it's not much to look at, but this is where I grew up." He almost calls it home, but that's a clusterfuck of potential bad that he just doesn't want to walk into. Between reminding Ella of all she's lost and the part where Derek's home will, sort of, also be Ella's--yeah, just better off not saying it. Embracing the bullshit doesn't not mean becoming an asshole. 

Getting out of the jeep, Stiles leans back in to get Ella. She balks a bit and, being Stiles, he can't help himself taking a guess at why. His dad is still standing there, watching, and doing a damn horrible job at not being nervous as fuck. 

Sure, his dad knows about werewolves, but there's a whole universe between knowing and _knowing_.

Stiles hides a grin. He'll figure it out. Stiles learned the hard way. 

Adopting a more relaxed posture, Stiles props himself against the seat and smiles. "So, yeah, I know he looks a little scary, but that? Totally all about the job. Can't scare the bad guys if you look like a big old teddy bear." His eyes drift to Derek and he clears his throat. "Well, most of us can't."

Derek glares back at that one and Stiles enjoys his little victory. It's the little ones that matter the most. 

"I swear, kiddo," Stiles says, looking at Ella, "You'll _love_ my dad. You two are cut from the same cloth and he is just totally itching at the chance to be a grandpa." He thinks, though, maybe he gets what's really freaking her out. "You know the same goes for him as goes for me. You don't have to call him Grandpa or anything like that until you're ready."

Though, if memory serves him, he doesn't actually remember her mentioning a grandpa on either side of the family. He doesn't like the odds on how that might have happened, but they're probably pretty solid in favor of hunters thinning things out. 

Not that it matters. It's just going to take time and they all have to remember that. 

"Okay," Ella says, but hesitant. She edges forward, perched on Derek's knee with her bear still firmly in hand. "Can Derek come too?"

"Oh, totally," Stiles says, "You think I was going to just leave him out here and miss all the fun? Never." Because there will be fun. If his Dad called Lydia and Allison, there will be nothing _but_ fun. "He can even use the front door this time."

That gets him a disbelieving look from Ella and a severe one from Derek. Stiles, however, is high on life, new parenthood, and a shitload of sleep deprivation. He's ready to take on anything, including scooping up his new daughter (still not used to that) and pointing up at his old bedroom window. "See that?"

"Uh huh?"

"Yeah, that's where Derek used to climb into my room to visit me." 

Ella blinks, looking back at Derek like she can't quite believe it. Stiles peers over her shoulder with a smirk of his own. 

If Derek's contemplating murder, he does a damn good job of hiding it. Stiles can't see anything in the way he grins and shrugs at Ella. "Quickest way. His dad wouldn't give me a key."

Stiles snorts. "Yeah, right, you never asked. You totally got o—" God, he is going to have so much trouble with that. His brain just refuses to shut the fuck up sometimes. Seriously, announcing in front of a six year old that her Alpha got off on sneaking past the town sheriff? Not a good idea. Definitely not the kind of moral lesson a new father wants to impart to the next generation. 

Derek makes a noise that, in theory, might be a cough to some. Stiles, however, is not fooled one bit.

Bastard's _laughing at him_.

This, of course, means war.

"C'mon, kiddo. If my dad gets any antsier, he's going to trip over his own feet." 

*

Dad, as it turns out, does not trip over anything. He goes carefully still when Stiles and Ella get closer. "Welcome home, son," he says. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh, that's Derek. I think he did something new with his hair, understandable that--righhht," Stiles pastes a exaggerated, sheepish expression on his face and looks at Ella. "He means you."

She rolls her eyes, but giggles a bit. "Uh huh." 

"I probably should have known that, right?" 

Again a giggle and a nod. "Yup." Ella leans her head against Stiles, wrapping one little arm around his neck. "You're being silly." 

"Kind of," Stiles says. "Just in case anybody might be nervous. Is it helping?"

Ella shrugs and hides her face against his neck. 

"Well, it's something," Stiles announces. "Suppose I could give myself an E for effort."

His father grins a bit and shrugs much like Ella.

Stiles makes a face. "You are so not helping here, Dad."

"Like I have any idea what I'm doing," his father says, laughter under the words. "Last time I checked, I counted it a miracle that I managed to raise you." 

Which, yeah, no, not even remotely close to the truth. Not even. Stiles knows he overcompensated after his mom's death, going into overdrive where his father's health was concerned, but Dad was still, well, _Dad_. If he does half as well with Ella as his father has with him, Stiles thinks she'll turn out pretty damn incredible.

Not that she doesn't have a head start in that department already. So, you know, his kid's going to turn out to be perfect and there's just no stopping it.

"Yeah, right, well, not believing that one at all." Stiles shifts a bit, jiggling Ella until she lifts her head. "Okay, kiddo, this is my dad. Dad, this is Ella. Feel free to bond over burgers and embarrassing stories of my formative years." 

"Oh, absolutely," his Dad agrees, winking at Ella. Stiles is watching as she sort of smiles back. Yay that. "Do you know what a Bingo dabber is, Ella?"

Ella's brows draw together and she thinks about it. "I think? You make the dots with them? Mama uses them for decorating her scrapbooks." 

Stiles winces. His dad, at least, does a good job of covering his reaction. "Good! Then I think you'll like the pictures I have of the time Stiles tried to use one to fake chicken pox..." Dad mimes the action, 'dabbing' at his face, and Ella starts to giggle. 

Great. Progress. Absolutely fantastic. Except for the part where Stiles is quietly dying in horror and _refusing_ to look at Derek.

He might not have much dignity left, but he's damn well going to keep it while he can. 

"Come on inside," his dad says, opening the door. "We'll have lunch and I'll get those pictures." 

"Just so you know," Stiles says, carrying Ella into the house, "You are getting the bad nursing home."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows who he is now, he's comfortable, but he doesn't know about Derek. He doesn't know what's going on in that head or that heart and he really can't be trying to find out right now.
> 
> He looks down at Ella. Neither of them can afford that kind of distraction.

Stiles would be lying if he said the house hasn't changed much since he left. It has. A lot. Everywhere he looks, there's new carpet, new furniture, new everything, and it looks good. His dad's been doing a lot of work. 

His dad had mentioned that, of course. He'd even sent fabric swatches for Stiles' opinion. Stiles knew all about it, but somehow seeing it makes it real. His dad is fixing up the house in preparation for the day he sells it. 

Stiles lets Ella slide gently to the floor as he takes it all in. "Wow," is his verdict after a long moment of consideration.

"Yeah?" 

He looks at his father and realizes his entire reaction had been observed and Dad's nervous about his reaction. 

"Oh, _absolutely_ ," Stiles says, clapping his dad on the shoulder. "The place looks great. You keep this up and you'll get a ridiculous price on the house." It's strange to think of this place in someone else's hands, but that's just it. Strange. He doesn't feel the way he thought he might, panic or hurt clawing up to cut off his air, and that's good. A relief. 

Maybe it'll be different when the sign is actually on the lawn, but Stiles doesn't think so. 

"Yeah, that's what Jackson keeps telling me," his father is saying. "The market in town is pretty good these days." He directs an amused grin Derek's way. "People have been buying up property left, right, and center. It's been driving the prices up pretty good." 

Derek has a small grin of his own in answer. 

Which says something about the strength of Derek's pack. It's bigger than it was. Isaac has a family, so does Boyd, and there are other wolves—both made and born—spread all through town. Beacon Hills is more like the town of old than ever before. It's Wolf Central, just the way they like it and he's curious to know how it's working with all the other packs. 

Stiles thinks about that and grins. It must be driving Chris nuts to watch Derek's pack grow, strengthen, and spill out across the town like they own it. Must be, but Stiles hasn't heard a thing through the grapevine. Not that he's been all that plugged into it for a while now. Hard to maintain super-secret alliances when you lived in another state and had no contact with the pack at all. 

"Dad gets a good deal," he says, pointing at him. "Or else."

Derek smiles back, almost annoyingly serene. Its not precisely a challenge, but Stiles isn't stupid enough to argue that point. "And what about us?"

"I talk to Jackson," Stiles glowers. "Don't tell me you can't afford it. He wants to hire an actual accounting firm to do your books." 

Derek makes a face. "Jackson's got a big mouth."

Stiles smirks, but the knowledge Ella is in the room keeps him from making the expected joke. "No, Scott can't keep a secret to save his life. You know that." He looks down at Ella and realizes how the conversation must sound from her perspective. "Don't worry, kiddo," he says, dropping down before her. "We're not going to be selling the house anytime soon. My Dad's just planning for the future. We do stuff like that sometimes." Mostly because they'd left the house as it was for so many years. Neither of them had been able to face replacing the stuff his mom had picked out. 

Ella bites her lip and edges closer. "Are you sure?" 

"Uh uh, very," Stiles nods, "But when we do, don't worry, you get to pick out your new room in that house too. Where I go, you go." He holds out his hand, wiggling his pinky. "Swear."

She smiles a little and wraps hers around it. "Swear." 

"And speaking of rooms," Dad puts in, "We have yours all painted and ready for furniture." He edges closer, lowering his voice. "Did some reading, said choices were good?"

"Yeah, they are," Stiles nods. He picks up Ella again, settling her on his hip. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and holds on close. "We'll go down to the store later and pick some stuff up." He wants to call Allison and Lydia again, but he doesn't want to overload Ella with faces either. The pack will have to wait. 

"I'll get those burgers on the grill," Dad says, "You guys go on up and see if the colour's right." 

Stiles looks at Ella first. "Sound good to you?" 

She nods. "Yes please." 

"Think it would be okay if Derek comes too?" Stiles winks. "He won't creep in your window, I promise. We'll use the door every time."

Derek snorts behind him, but Ella giggles at them both. "Okay." She rests her head on his shoulder and Stiles feels his heart turn over a little. Derek's words from the car come back to him and Stiles has absolutely no argument with any of it. He'll do what he has to in order to protect Ella and he's not going to make any apologies about that. 

"All right," he says, turning around to find Derek leading the way out of the room. Right. Paint. Derek can find the room faster than he can.

He's halfway up the stairs when he realizes that it's more than that. Derek is totally pulling an Alpha right now. Protecting Ella by searching out any possible threats in the house. Stiles sneaks a peek at Ella's face and finds her watching everything Derek does. 

Yeah, Stiles missed it, but she didn't. 

He doesn't know precisely how Ella being a werewolf will intersect with her being a traumatized little girl, but he does have a good feeling about it. Having an Alpha, especially one like Derek who understands, can't be anything but a help. 

The old guest room, the one between his and his dad's room, is where Derek stops. Stiles looks at it. "Okay, so that's Dad's room there," he says, pointing at the room in question, "And the other side, that's my old room, so this purple perfection in here," he waits for Derek to open the door for him, "is going to be yours. You don't have to sleep in here until you're ready, but it's totally your space." 

He lets Ella slide down his side again, but doesn't let her go far. She doesn't protest when he takes her hand in his. In fact, she holds out the other one to Derek and lets him lead her into the room. The windows are open, curtains wafting in the breeze, and all the furniture is covered in drop cloths, but the walls are _perfect_. Stiles takes in the soft purple colour and grins a little. He almost opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it.

Ella's opinion matters more right now and he doesn't want her to feel pressured by his. He looks at Derek instead and finds Derek staring steadily back. Stiles swallows a little, reflexive, struck by the intensity of that look. 

This is going to be more difficult than he thought. Derek hadn't been ready ten years ago, still caught up in the apocalyptic damage that Kate Argent had inflicted on his soul, and Stiles had been a kid barely figuring out what being bisexual meant. He knows who he is now, he's comfortable, but he doesn't know about Derek. He doesn't know what's going on in that head or that heart and he really can't be trying to find out right now.

He looks down at Ella. Neither of them can afford that kind of distraction.

Ella sniffs a bit, looking up at them. 

"The paint's still fresh," Derek says, nodding. "It'll settle out in a few days." 

"If the colour's not right, don't worry," Stiles says, "You'll be sleeping with me for a while yet anyway, so we can change it if you want." 

Ella smiles and shakes her head. She tugs until Stiles kneels down across from her. She looks like she wants to say something, but instead she wraps her arms around his neck and _holds_.

When she starts to sniffle, Stiles just hauls her into his lap and cuddles her close. Derek joins him a second later, his arms wrapped around them both, and they're still there when Dad comes up with a plateful of burgers in hand. 

Stiles glances up and sees the pain in his father's eyes. Yeah, this is familiar. 

Dad nods back and, backing up quietly, closes the door to give them time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's the one who's supposed to have all the answers and, wow, there really aren't words to accurately describe just how overwhelmed he is right now.

Stiles is pretty sure he can pinpoint the moment Ella's sniffles stop being sniffles and start being sniffs of interest. He lifts his head and sees a quiet little grin sneak its way across Derek's face, disappearing again in a second. 

He pulls back to look Ella in the face. She swipes at her eyes, then at her nose (he cringes, but hey, snot washes out right?) and looks at him. "Are the burgers done?"

She sounds so plaintive about it that he can't help but grin. Nearly laughs outright when her stomach rumbles at an impressive volume for such a little girl. "Yep." 

Stiles gets up and turns around. "Piggyback?"

She giggles and jumps up. The stranglehold is, uh, a little healthy and he looks at Derek. 

Derek smirks back. "You offered."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Easy on the grip, kiddo," he says, adjusting Ella's hold. "You're way stronger than you think you are."

"We'll work on that," Derek puts in.

Ella rests her chin on Stiles shoulder, hanging her arms and her teddybear down in front of his chest in a lighter grip than before. "Yeah, we were learning already." She looks sad. "Daddy was teaching me."

Derek nods. He edges closer to Stiles and then leans in to make eye contact with Ella. "Do you think he would mind if I did it now?"

She shakes her head. "No." 

Derek turns them toward the door. "Good. Now, burgers." 

"Don't worry," Stiles says to them both on the way, "Dad knows you like them rare." 

He nearly stumbles, caught only by Derek's hand on his arm, when Derek says, "I know."

Right. So, Derek's been keeping in touch. He sort of knew that, but it's different to imagine Derek downstairs at the dinner table, talking to Dad, without Stiles there to keep an eye on things. It's not really something he's given himself permission to think about before. The idea that life went on without him and that, in his absence, his Dad might get to know the pack outside of work. 

He sneaks a look Derek's way, curious, but Derek doesn't acknowledge it. Just keeps his hand on Stiles' arm and leads them down to where Dad's laying out the table. There is a _lot_ of food. 

Ella immediately lets go of Stiles, dropping to the floor to scramble over to his Dad's side. 

"Ah, we see now the Ella in her natural habitat," Stiles says, dropping into his best anthropologist voice. "Hunting and pursuing her prey." He catches up, winking at her as he says, "So, ketchup? Mustard? Something completely bizarre that is going to make me turn seriously green?" 

Ella giggles, pointing at the ketchup. "And relish please." She wrinkles her nose when Stiles passes a hand over the mustard. "No thank you. It's yucky."

"I hated it when I was little too," Derek says, getting a plate for himself. "Too strong." He catches Stiles' eye and Stiles thinks he gets it. This is another one of those wolf things. Learning how to control the taste-buds. 

It is just another one of those things. All part and parcel with raising a young werewolf. Stiles knows there'll be more. A lot more. Things he can't think of right now, but will crop up without warning and Ella will be looking at him for answers. 

That's what gets him. 

He's that person for her. Her _Dad_. He's the one who's supposed to have all the answers and, wow, there really aren't words to accurately describe just how overwhelmed he is right now. 

"Breathe." 

Derek's hand touches his back, between his shoulder blades, then slides up and down in a slow pass. It's probably supposed to be comforting and, yeah, it really, really is. "You'll be ready, Stiles," he says, quietly. "We'll make sure of it. Whatever she needs, you'll be ready."

God, he wants not to be reassured by that. He wants to know that he can do this himself. He also wants Derek to keep his hand right where it is so the warmth of it sinks into him. He wants to carry it with him and feel it every time Ella looks at him with fear in her eyes and he doesn't know what to do.

He picks up a plate and looks at Derek. "I have no idea what I'm doing." 

"Neither did I." Derek doesn't elaborate on what he means. Stiles remembers. Those first few months of Derek's ascension to Alpha had been, uh, _rough_. Really rough. In the sense of a parade of trauma, blood, near death experiences and some seriously bad judgment on everyone's parts. 

Good times.

"You were there," Derek says. "Every time. Even when I didn't want you there." His wry grin says _especially_ then, but he at least does Stiles the courtesy of not saying it. "It helped."

"I'm glad," Stiles says. "Still terrified, but glad." 

Derek doesn't laugh, but there's a feeling of it anyway. Like he wants to. It's a little unnerving in the sense that it is a lot unnerving and Stiles doesn't know what to make of this. Derek is different and, yeah, he should have expected that. It's been years since they've seen each other, years of Derek living here, running the pack, protecting the town and, wow, Stiles needs to play catch up.

He doesn't know what to do with the lighter, happier Derek. He's not even sure if that's what this is, or if this is about Ella.

If it is, well, Stiles appreciates that. He appreciates it a whole hell of a lot, even though he is completely mystified by it. 

"Never play poker, Stiles." Derek says. He drops a burger on Stiles' plate and grabs one for himself. "You still show everything." 

"Do not," Stiles says, "Do not mistake my indecision over the choice of condiments for anything else." He looks down at the burger. He should probably eat the thing. He glances over to find Ella and his dad gleefully piling relish and ketchup atop a burger. They smash cheese down over it, making a complete mess, and Stiles groans. "You're washing that out, Dad."

"Trust me," his Dad says, laughing, "I've got plenty of experience where that's concerned."

"Ouch," Stiles says, pressing a hand to his chest. "I sense parental disapproval in that comment." 

"And many, many stories," Dad says, then winks at Ella. "I'll show you some pictures later."

"Seen those," Derek says, leaning forward. He reaches past Stiles, picking up the bottle of mustard. The bulk of familiar, even now, and Stiles can feel himself starting to turn toward it as he moves. "Cute."

"You showed--DAD!" Stiles presses a hand to his face. "Okay, rapidly losing control of the situation here. Don't believe a word they say, Ella. Not one." 

Ella giggles. It's the best sound ever. Stiles peeks through his fingers to take in the sight of his dad and Ella again. His dad has a mouthful of burger, Ella's got a smear of ketchup on her cheek, and they are the cutest thing he's ever seen.

"It'll work, Stiles," Derek says. "I promise."

"What will?" 

Stiles wishes the words back as soon as he asks them, but it's been a long time since he was that person. He's spent a lot of time figuring out who he is and what he wants and, right now, he wants to be a good dad. Anything else just has to wait. 

"Yeah, not the time to revisit that particular adolescent trauma." 

Excusing himself, he goes to sit by Ella. There is a lot of ketchup and he is probably going to have to hose her down. 

He smiles. "We're going to need to get a picture."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Ella that has to deal with _everything_ , but somehow, Stiles still thinks that maybe, just maybe, she's the one saving him somehow.

After lunch, Stiles takes one look at Ella and grins. 

"Oh my god, you are a _mess_." 

For her part, Ella looks imminently pleased with herself. Two hamburgers and an embarrassing number of fries (he suspects hollow wooden leg, otherwise he has no idea where she put it all) later, she wipes at her face with a napkin and grins at him.

Her chin is about the only clean part of her entire face and Stiles is sure that, some day, he won't think everything she does is the cutest thing ever. He's sure of it. He is.

He's also sure that day? Not today. 

"All right," he says, giving up on any hope he'll manage to stay clean and picking her up, "It's bath time for all werewolves under four feet." 

"Imagine my relief."

Stiles barely catches the words as he passes Derek, but that doesn't stop him from grinning over his shoulder. "Don't get too cocky," he says. "The ones over four feet we just take out back and hose down." 

Derek makes a face that's just this side of baring teeth (seriously, who does that anyway?) and Stiles flips him off where Ella can't see. 

Sweet, sweet nonverbal communication. No swear jar required. 

"So, after we get you cleaned up, I was thinking we might take a look at the stuff Lydia and Allison bought," he says, carrying her upstairs to the bathroom. "If you don't like any of it, that's okay. We don't need to get everything settled right away." 

He suspects he probably shouldn't be reassuring her all the time like this, but choice is supposed to be good and, hey, he's reassuring himself as much as her, so that counts for something.

"Allison lives across the street with Scott," he continues, hoping to keep on a casual tone of voice. Like he isn't mentally freaking out every two seconds because he's here now, he's home, she's still here and it's _real_. "You remember Scott, right?"

"Uh huh," Ella nods, because Stiles has, possibly, told an embarrassing number of Scott stories to his students. Possibly more than an embarrassing number, but hey, when you've got a BFF like Scott in your childhood, the potential for cautionary tales is _endless_.

Right down to accidentally squirting glue in your eye on the first day of school. 

Stiles grins at the memory. Good times, good times. Much better than the awkward realization that, yes, he is going to have to explain Allison's family history sooner rather than later.

Hunters in the pack is probably not the best thing to spring on a traumatized six year old.

It's also not something he's going to talk about on their first night home. It can wait. It _will_ wait. 

Standing in the bathroom, Stiles looks at Ella. He starts to put one hand over his mouth to hide the grin, then thinks better of it. He doesn't want to hide anything from her right now. Not when it's just a smile. He sits down across from her, winks, and shakes his head. 

"I'm proud, kiddo," he says, taking hold of her shirt. "It takes some serious dedication to get ketchup in your hair." In her hair, beneath her shirt, and on her shoes. "Serious, serious dedication." 

She giggles, putting up her arms so he can tug the shirt up and off her. "Your dad's fun," she says, voice muffled by her shirt. "I like him." 

"So do I," Stiles turns the shirt over in his hands. He has no idea how to get the ketchup out, but he thinks, probably, his Dad does. "He likes you too."

"He's gonna build me a dollhouse for my room," Ella says, stepping out of her jeans. She lets Stiles drop one of his t-shirts over her head and sits down to watch him turn on the bathwater. "And maybe a playhouse out back."

"Sounds good to me," Stile says, sticking a hand beneath the water to make sure it's not too hot. "We'll look in some of the bags later, see if Lydia or Allison brought you some crayons. We can draw some plans for it."

"Okay." 

Ella plops down onto the floor next to him, then thinks better of it and crawls into his lap. She's solid, but tiny, and he can't imagine anyone locking this kid into a house--he doesn't let himself finish the thought. He doesn't want to think about that right now. Ella needs him as calm as she can get him and thinking about how they got here is going to make him anything but calm. 

Wrapping his arms around her, Stiles starts humming to himself. There's so much to do. So many new faces to introduce her too. It's summer, sure, but the fall is coming and he's got to figure things out. If he enrolls her in school, that's going to send up serious red flags to any hunters looking for her. No way he can keep the transfer of her records off the radar. Schools are sticklers about that sort of thing. The records must pass between schools, parents can't hand deliver them. His dad's caught actual fugitives because they enrolled their kids in school. 

He's not about to risk Ella that way. 

The obvious solution would be home-schooling, but he needs to work. Bills to pay, life to build, and all the fun adult stuff that comes with it. 

Still, it's not like he doesn't already know the curriculum. 

It's an option, anyway.

"The tub's full."

Ella's voice snaps Stiles' attention back to her and he blinks. "Right, probably should turn the water off, huh?"

"Yup," Ella nods.

He stands her up again and reaches to turn off the water. Then he grabs the soaps and shampoos. "Okay, check these out. If none of them are any good, we'll just send Derek back to the jeep for our bags and we'll get your stuff from there."

Ella dutifully sniffs all of them, before pointing at the ones he's been using for years. Werewolves are freaking adorable with their scent associations. Seriously. Stiles lets himself have another 'awww, this kid is _perfect_ ' moments. He's kind of resigned to them really. 

Which, you know, such a hardship and all that.

He grins at himself and shakes his head. "Fair warning, kiddo," he says, helping her off with the t-shirt, "I am _weird_." 

To be sure, he sticks a hand in the bath water to make sure it's not too hot. Satisfied, Stiles lifts her up and eases her down into it. Ella doesn't protest when she settles in the tub, just grabs for the washcloth and starts scrubbing at her face. "You're not weird," she says, through the wet cloth. "Well, not _bad_ weird anyway." 

It's kid logic, sure, but Stiles has been running on kid logic since he _was_ a kid. Most days, he's convinced it's better than anything adults come up with. Actually, he's convinced of that every day. 

It's strange, really. It's Ella's life that's in shambles. Ella's family that died. Ella that has to deal with the grief and confusion that comes with losing one life and gaining another. It's Ella that has to deal with _everything_ , but somehow, Stiles still thinks that maybe, just maybe, she's the one saving him somehow.

"Not bad weird," he says, quiet. "I think that's the best compliment I've ever gotten."

Ella giggles. "You need to get more compliments then." 

"I am not going to argue with that," he says, and drops a kiss into her forehead. "Now, wash up. We've got a room to get started on."

And about three layers of ketchup left to scrub off. Seriously, how did she do that?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost friendly enough that Stiles thinks he could expect some kind of emotional outburst (ha! no chance and he knows it) , but he knows otherwise.

The results of Allison and Lydia's shopping are waiting for them in Stiles' old room. When Stiles gets Ella cleaned up and out of the tub, he bundles her into a fluffy towel and carries her in there. "Remember, kiddo, you keep what you want, but if you don't like any of it, you don't have to pretend. Allison and Lydia won't mind at all if you don't see anything you want to keep."

Ella nods, serious and wide-eyed, and it's a look that bothers Stiles. He plops her down on the bed and sits with his back to the small pile of shopping bags. There's no furniture in them. Allison is a sneaky one (Stiles has always admired that about her, when it wasn't scaring the hell out of him instead) and he's sure that Scott and his mad carpentry skills have been put to work assembling Ella's new furniture in their house across the street. 

He doesn't mention that now. She doesn't need more stuff being dumped on her. Instead, he just tugs her a little closer so he can start working his fingers through her hair. "You know, I didn't know about werewolves when I was your age. I found out about them when I was a teenager and, uh, Scott joined the pack." Which, yes, not specifically the truth, but as close as Stiles is going to let _anyone_ get for a very long time. "It was pretty scary for a while. Stuff kept happening and we never knew what was going to happen next. Some days, all I wanted to do was scream. I didn't want to be the one who fixed everything, or the one who knew what to do. I just wanted to be a kid."

Ella tips her head back, letting him comb his fingers through her hair. She's quiet. Quiet enough that Stiles is weirdly relieved. She's been way too calm about everything. A little freaking out is actually a good thing. 

"I don't know about the screaming, but its okay to not be okay." He leans over, pressing his forehead against hers. "Nobody's going to be mad if you are. I wasn't okay for a long time when I lost my mom."

"Did you miss her?" Ella asks. She turns to look at him, sad-eyed and heart-breaking. "Cause I miss my Mom."

Stiles breathes in, slow and deep, reaching down to where that ache still lives. It's not the sharp pain of those early days, when everything had felt empty and wrong. "Kiddo, I _still_ miss her. Losing your mom, however that happens, is a really hard thing to go through. It's a kind of thing that can take over and it's kind of supposed to. I didn't get that then, and I'd try to hide it. I thought that showing how much it hurt would make my dad feel bad. Like I didn't love him as much."

His voice falters as he realizes just what an impact that choice had made on his relationship with his dad. Ella must pick up on the change in his heart rate. She makes a little noise of distress and climbs up into his lap, tucking her head beneath his chin. "It's okay, kiddo," Stiles murmurs, cuddling her close. "Just thinking about how that actually complicated things with my dad." He rubs her back. "It's okay to miss them, Ella. You're supposed to."

"It _hurts_ ," Ella sniffles. 

Stiles closes his eyes, squeezing tight to hold back the tears. "I know, kiddo. Believe me, I know." He almost tells her that it will get easier, but bites down on the words. She's too little and her pain too big to even try explaining it. Instead, he cuddles her until she stops crying. 

When she does, he gets her dressed, gets her hair and teeth brushed, and settles her in his bed.

Derek the teddy bear gets tucked in beside her. "I'm going to run downstairs for a bit and talk to Derek. I won't be long and if you need me before then, Derek will hear." He taps her on the nose. "No eavesdropping, got it?"

She scrunches her nose at him, but nods.

He drops a kiss on her forehead. "Be right back."

*

Derek's waiting on the stairs, a bottle of beer in each hand. "She's digging in those bags, you know that right?"

Stiles takes one of the bottles. "Duh. She wants to make sure she likes some of it before she has to face us." He sits down. "I used to do the same thing with my Christmas gifts." A little grin sneaks onto his face. "Man, werewolf senses would have made that so much easier."

That gets a genuine grin out of Derek. He isn't expecting it, so Stiles thinks he can be forgiven for the minute's distraction before he figures out where that grin is coming from. 

"Oh, yeah," he says, blinking to clear the grin-induced fog (seriously, any expression of pleasure from Derek Hale is dangerous to a man's self-control). "That's going to make Christmas _interesting_." He points at Derek. "You will be helping."

Derek's eyebrows creep up. "Me? Why am I going to do this?"

Stiles takes a long pull from his beer, then smirks. "You're the Alpha. Ensuring the kids of the Pack have a good Christmas has to fall under the job description somewhere, right?"

Derek favors him with another small grin. "No, but we can work something out." His eyes flick a look over Stiles, like he's considering taking that something right out of Stiles' scrawny hide.

Part of Stiles has absolutely no problem with this. The rest of him, however, is the part that's in charge. He gives himself a few minutes to enjoy the promise of Derek's gaze and then he has to be a grownup. "Is she still checking out the bags?" 

Derek nods, "We have some time." 

"There is a chance that the hunters may follow us back here. I didn't advertise where I was from, but it's in my file. If they have half the connections that the Argents do..." 

"They don't," Derek cuts in. "We have allies in the area. They've been looking into these hunters for me. They're unsponsored." 

Stiles feels a little relieved to hear that. Actually, he feels a lot relieved. Knowing there's no old hunting dynasty behind them means they don't have the same resources. No deep pockets and a lot less people to rally to the cause. "That doesn't rule them out." 

"No, it doesn't." In years past, Derek would growl or flash the eyes. Something to reinforce the badass Alpha image, but those days are long gone. The cool, contained Alpha sitting beside him is a thousand times more intimidating than that one had ever been. "We'll be ready if they find us."

Stiles would feel sorry for the bastards, but sympathy isn't in the playbook for this one. There's no way they'll ever suffer enough to pay up for what they did. Ella's world is in shambles, like too many packs before hers, and he's not naive enough to believe every werewolf on the planet is an innocent (he remembers the Alpha pack too well to pretend otherwise) but in the monster category, Stiles thinks there are way more hunters than werewolves. 

"I was thinking we'd start with Scott and Allison tomorrow," he says, deciding to switch tracks. "Unless there's some kind of hierarchy I should be worried about?"

Derek shakes his head. "No, it's fine, but you should probably make an appointment with Isaac. You need new prescriptions."

Stiles narrows his eyes. "If not for the fact that I actually do need new scrips and need to get Ella checked up on, I would be so creeped out right now. Also, possibly, a little pissed off. Since, however I do need these things, I'm going to let this one slide. with a warning. Let's leave the stalking to the whacky uncle, ok? He's had so much practice after all. It's like trying to out-cook Wolfgang Puck, but with a lot more hair and the surprise at the end is not a delicious meal."

Derek huffs a breath. In some cultures, it might even be construed as a strange and bizarre ritual some called laughter. Unused to seeing it from Derek, however, Stiles does not dare take the risk of terming it such. 

Not that it matters, Derek settles a hand at the back of Stiles' head. It's almost friendly enough that Stiles thinks he could expect some kind of emotional outburst (ha! no chance and he knows it) , but he knows otherwise. 

He gets precisely what he expected. "Never thought I'd say this one, Stiles, but I actually missed you."

Stiles rolls his eyes, but he's grinning when he says, "Thanks...I think."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles thinks they could sit here all night without saying a word and, aside from his ass getting severely numb, he wouldn't mind.

He doesn't really know how long they sit there, slowly working their way through their beers while Derek feeds back sporadic information on Ella's movements. Some of it has to be guessing, Stiles is sure of it, no way Derek can know that she's separating things out into _piles_ , but whatever. He just goes with it, enjoying the sound of Derek's voice and the first real moment of relaxation he's had since this whole thing got started. 

Besides, he's not in any hurry to go anywhere and he knows it. Whether Derek does or not, is another question entirely. He doesn't show any hints of it, but that's not proof of anything. Ten years ago, Stiles wouldn't have been this quiet and, ten years ago, Derek never would have been this talkative. It's over simplifying things, sure, but it's the easiest and most obvious sign that they're not the people they used to be. 

Dusk comes and goes, the shadows lengthening and growing until it's dark. He hears his dad moving around in the kitchen, the clink of a spoon against mug, and it's almost like no time has passed at all. 

Almost. 

He needs to go check on Ella soon. This is the longest she's been out of his sight since the fire and he's getting a little twitchy, but he doesn't move. 

"She's okay, Stiles." 

It's the first thing Derek's said to him in a little while, but the silence hasn't been an awkward one. It should be, but it isn't. Stiles thinks they could sit here all night without saying a word and, aside from his ass getting severely numb, he wouldn't mind. 

"Thanks," Stiles says, picking fingers at the label on his bottle. "Still digging or has she tried to sleep?"

"She's asleep," Derek reports. "I don't think she made it into bed though." 

Stiles nods. "I should go up." 

He still doesn't move. 

"Give her time," Derek puts his bottle down. "You can't hover over her forever. She needs to know she's safe here." 

"And being alone in a room will tell her that? She's six, Derek."

"Yes, but she's also a werewolf. You might not be in the room, but you're still _with_ her. She knows that. Right now, you're everything she has in the world. Believe me, Stiles, she knows where you are and what you're doing, even if she's not aware of it." Derek's voice is even, controlled, and Stiles might be imagining it, but he thinks there might be a little tension in there that doesn't belong. Stiles isn't exactly an expert, but he thinks he can guess why. 

The Hale pack has expanded, grown and sprawled outward, rebuilding itself with Derek at its head. It's good for the town, but Stiles isn't so sure it's been good for Derek. He has a family again, yes, but he's alone in the middle of it all and that can't be good at all. 

He's got more than his fair share of being alone in the middle, surrounded by happy couples and it's all good except for the times that it's not. Those are the times he looks around him and misses something he never really had, but Derek—Derek thought he had it. Derek _trusted_ and lost everyone. Surrounded by happy couples and young families, Stiles has a feeling that not only does Derek miss it, but Derek feels guilty for wanting it. 

Ten years is a long time to hate a dead woman, but it still feels like no time at all to Stiles.

"Thanks," he says, eager to get away from the subject. "I swear I'll stop being so neurotic about this. At least, I think I will. At the moment, I seem to be freaking out over every single thing she does or doesn't do." Which is probably something he should be talking about with his father, but Derek has a say in this too and Stiles is going to do his best to remember that. Ella needs him to remember that. "Which, you know, letting your kid fall asleep in a pile of new clothes? That's probably like not good, right?" He makes a face and shakes his head. "Yeah, neurotic. Totally, totally neurotic."

Derek doesn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth turns up. "This is nothing. You weren't here for the first time Scott changed a diaper."

"No," Stiles smiles loftily, "but Allison totally sent me the video."

That brings a full on grin to Derek's face. "There's _video_?"

"Oh, absolutely there's video," Stiles leans back on his elbows. "I might have wandered far from these lands, but I still got all the good stuff. Well, at least enough that I have accumulated an impressive amount of blackmail material should you need to borrow some." 

"I just might," Derek says, but Stiles doubts it. At least, he hopes. If Scott and Derek haven't figured things out by now, all the videos of Scott being a moron will never, ever help. 

The thought bothers him more than it should. Not Scott and Derek being Scott and Derek, that's something that hasn't bothered him in _years_ , but the part where he just doesn't _know_ anymore. The house is different, Derek and his dad are different, and he knows that has to extend to everybody else. None of them, him included, are the same anymore and it bothers him that he doesn't know and wasn't there to see them all change. 

He frowns. Leaving wasn't a mistake. He can remember those days before college, when he'd felt trapped, confused, aware that he wanted to stay, but knowing there just wasn't a way. It was pretty damn gloomy in those days. He'd felt so trapped by everything, missing his mother more than anything, and knowing that most of it was just him being, uh, _him_.

Leaving had been the right thing to do. He knows that now the way he'd known it then, but the realization of just how much he missed being a part of this? Yeah, that's new. That's new enough to hurt.

Stiles draws in a slow breath, lets it out even slower, feeling the air empty out and the weight go with it. The carpet beneath his elbows is rough, new, and he tries to distract himself by taking in the changes his father's made to the hall. Everything around it.

It doesn't really work, but at least it settles a little. Everything always settles out after a while, whether they fix themselves or not, and Stiles has gotten really, really good at waiting that out. 

It's probably sad, but he's good with it. It's familiar ground and he needs familiar right now. 

He didn't anticipate this. He'd been so focused on getting Ella here, getting her safe, that he hadn't really thought about how being here would hit him. Oops. 

"Stiles—"

He turns his head to find Derek watching him. "You know the whole werewolf thing gets really annoying when it verges on mind-reading."

"It's not mind-reading," Derek looks almost amused. "It's you being you. You show _everything_."

"Do not," Stiles protests. "Believe me. I've gotten damn good at hiding shit. I am the master of saying everything while revealing nothing." Okay, so not really, but he is good at babbling until no one gives a fuck about what he's saying. 

"True," Derek says, the admission coming easily, which is a little terrifying, but Stiles can go with it, "but everyone can have an off night."

"And I'm having one now?" Stiles asks, raising an eyebrow. "I don't feel like I'm having one now." Actually, he feels more settled in this moment than he has in a long time. He's not in any hurry to really dissect why, but he thinks that maybe he doesn't have to. Derek already knows. "Seriously?"

Derek almost smiles. "You haven't even been home for a day. Quit expecting everything to make sense right out of the gate."

It's actually the right thing to say. Stiles blinks about that. Derek knew the right thing to say. Sure, yeah, he's had a lot more practice at the whole Alpha thing than the last time Stiles spent any real time around the pack, but it really, really shows. 

He thinks about trying to tell Derek that, but the conversation in his head is a fumbling, awkward thing that makes all his actual fumbling, awkwardness look like the pathetic attempt of an amateur. The conversation he imagines is professional grade awkward. The purest, most gut-churning form of the stuff.

"Patience has never, ever been my strong suit," he says, standing up. "So, that's why I am going to go try and put Ella in bed. Feel like helping?" 

Derek gets up. "No, but you're going to need my help anyway."

"Getting a six year old to go back to bed?" Stiles folds his arms. "You realize that's stupid, right? I work with six year olds every day, Derek. I am a _professional_."

"Good," Derek grabs up the empty beer bottles. "Then I'll get us refills while you get Ella." 

Yes, Stiles has indeed been played, but he has to give it to Derek. That one had some serious style. 

Besides, Derek looks so damn pleased with himself that Stiles can't even consider arguing.

Unholy vengeance at a later date, though? That is _totally_ fine.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can't imagine locking _anyone_ in a house and burning it down. Not even _those_ bastards.
> 
> Stiles closes his eyes and breathes. No matter how much they have it coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a little photoset inspired by this story over on tumblr if you'd like to [take a peek](http://weareallmedie.tumblr.com/post/32721929943/fanart-for-ella-aka-my-stiles-accidentallys#notes)

Ella's curled up in a little ball when Stiles ducks into the room. She's changed into a purple nightgown, a pair of brilliant pink socks on her little feet. She's got her teddy bear wrapped up tight in her arms and she's surrounded by neat little piles. Derek's right; she's been busy. Each pile is a different thing; clothes, school supplies, toys, and things that don't fit any category. He can see where she's sorted everything out. Neat as a pin. 

He takes a long look at the picture before him and tries to imagine them in ten years (god, she'll be a _teenager_ ), him checking in on Ella slumped over her homework. It's actually really easy an image to conjure up. Her hair long, a complete mess with a pencil sticking out of it, hiding her face which is pressed into her book and possibly, just possibly, there is even drool. 

Yeah, even then, she'll be the cutest thing he's ever seen. Snapping out of the image, Stiles shakes his head and grins as he bends down to pick her up. Ella barely stirs when he settles her into bed. 

He thinks, maybe, she mumbles a sleepy 'daddy', but he can't bring himself to think about it too much. If he starts to think about it, he's going to realize that he's not who she's talking to and that man—Stiles takes a moment to push the thought back. She doesn't need him getting worked up and waking her up. She needs her sleep and he needs not to break his heart all over again by thinking about everything she's been through.

Stiles tucks the blankets closer around her and presses a kiss to her hair. "Right here, kiddo," he says, murmuring quietly. "I'm right here." She might not have meant him, but that doesn't mean he can't pinch-hit.

A noise at the door draws his attention, one of the floorboards that couldn't help creaking, and it's his father. He's standing there, backlit by the hall light, looking in. Stiles brushes one hand over Ella's hair and goes to join him.

"She's an amazing kid, son," Dad says, "but I don't have to tell you that."

"No, you don't," Stiles agrees. 'You should have seen her before all this started, Dad. Oh, my god, I am so ready to not be this _angry_. They—" he shakes his head, wanting nothing more than to put a fist through the wall. "What they did, Dad, it was completely inhuman. I don't understand any of it." And he can't. He's learned to understand hate. Dealing with werewolves, hunters, and the proverbial partridge in a pear tree, has taught him a lot about hate. He knows how deep and angry he can get. He's been in his own head these past few days, felt the low, simmering rage that's lived in the spaces between breaths, hiding where Ella can't hear it. He _knows_.

He knows, but he can't imagine hating so much he could lock a six year old into a house and burn it down. He can't imagine locking _anyone_ in a house and burning it down. Not even _those_ bastards.

Stiles closes his eyes and breathes. No matter how much they have it coming. 

His father rests a hand on his shoulder. "Come on. We shouldn't be talking about this here." Keeping his hand where it is, he turns Stiles around and walks him away from the room, down the hall and the stairs. 

He doesn't speak again until they're in the kitchen and his voice is quiet, somber, when he says, "I remember when you told me about all this—I must have spent half the night going through old files."

Stiles remembers. The unsolved cases sit in a box in his Dad's office. Copies that he breaks out and goes over when he can't sleep. It had been every night for a while. 

"Couldn't get the image of it out of my head. Werewolves. Christ. The things someone like that could do to people. It got to be all I could think about and I started looking for it in every unsolved case we had. It didn't make sense, not when I thought about it, but I wasn't thinking all that much. My _kid_ was mixed up with _werewolves_." 

Stiles makes himself walk away from his father, moving around the kitchen to make coffee like he's done a thousand times before and his heart isn't trying to hammer its way out of his chest. He's never heard his father talk about those days, not like this, and he doesn't want to hear it. It brings up too much. Makes him remember what it was like living here and waiting for everything to come crashing down around his ears. He'd expected, every day, that he'd come home and find his father signing on with Chris Argent or worse. 

He knows that's changed. Even if he didn't know from experience, the fact that Derek's spending so much time at the house, is here _right now_ , would tell the tale. Dad? Totally on board with the furrier denizens of Beacon Hills. 

Still, he doesn't like the tightness in his chest or the cold fear creeping into him to wrap tight around his lungs.

He breathes against that tightness and looks at his dad. "I remember. What changed your mind?"

"Snapped me out of it, more like," his father says, shaking his head. "I came across my copy of the Hale fire. Forgot to take it out after we solved it. Don't think I need to explain the context of that one to you." 

Stiles hands his father a mug of coffee. "Yeah, you don't." And he didn't. At this point, Stiles knew the circumstances of the fire better than most of the investigating officers. It had been an obsession for years, still was, like most things Hale related. 

Only that particular one had spun itself off into an 'investigation' into the Argents (and boy hadn't things gotten fun when Gerard rolled into the picture) and from there hunters in general. It'd been almost a kind of hobby for a while, a way to help out the pack, but he hasn't bothered with it in years. 

It might be an idea to pick that one back up. It might come in handy to know how the wind's blowing in the hunting community these days. 

Stiles looks down at his mug, frowns, and sneaks a little too much sugar in there. Hey, until Ella's old enough to police his sugar intake? He's going to enjoy himself. It's practically a Stilinski tradition. "You think there's a connection between the two fires? Not a direct one, but maybe some kind of sea change in the hunting community?"

Dad frowns. "Possibly. Your old files are around here somewhere. I'll dig them out next time you and the kid are out of the house. It's definitely worth looking into." He looks satisfied. "Be nice to put them on notice." 

"We'd need to be careful about it," Stiles sits down. "Some of the old hunting families have connections everywhere."

"Don't need to tell me that," Dad's frown becomes a smirk. "Though hiring Erica's tamped down on that problem nicely. Next round of performance reviews are coming up. I think I know of a few officers who might just find themselves on the unemployment line." He sips his coffee slow, looking pleased with himself. "Argents won't like it much, but their influence just isn't what it used to be." 

"You're an evil man, Dad," Stiles salutes him with his coffee. "I see where I get it."

"So do I," Derek agrees, plucking the mug out of Stiles' hand and giving it a suspicious sniff. "How much sugar did you put in this?"

Stiles offers an innocent look. "Not much?"

"He didn't give me _any_ ," Dad puts in. "Trade?"

"No." Derek dumps it out and makes Stiles a fresh cup. The jerk. "Neither one of you should be having it." He puts the mug down in front of Stiles. Stiles favors the thing with a deeply suspicious look and pushes it away, watching Derek make one for himself. Without sugar. 

Explains so much really.

"We were discussing—" 

"I heard," Derek says, quiet enough that both Stilinskis flinch. "It's a good idea. We can help, but you're right about being careful. The hunters who killed Ella's family aren't aligned with a family, but most of them are and that means money, people, and more resources than we're prepared for right now."

"Bribes," Stiles nods. "Always did wonder if we were going after the hunters from the wrong angle." He reaches for his coffee, curling his fingers around it to enjoy the heat, and grins at his Dad. "Ever wonder if Chris Argent's business is totally on the level?"

Dad grins back "Every damn day."

"You ever get a look at his garage?"

"Surprisingly," Derek says, dry, "I have not." 

"Yeah,well, we should sometime," Stiles says, kicking back in his chair. "In fact, it's worth trying with all of them." And he's an idiot for not really going after it before. "You know how touchy the feds get about militia groups." He waggles his eyebrows. "Uncle Sam siding with werewolves? I think I could get behind that."

Derek grins into his coffee cup. "I like it." He looks at Stiles. "Ella?"

"In bed. Found her on the floor." Stiles smiles. "She organized everything. Kid's neater than I am." 

"Everyone's neater than you are." 

Stiles shoots a wounded look Derek's way. "I beg your pardon? Me? I have skills. I clean. I even alphabetize." 

His dad groans. "Don't get him going, Derek. He's not kidding about that one." 

"Forget it, Dad," Stiles says, making a face. "Derek is beyond help." He waves a hand at Derek's shirt. "I mean, seriously? Trying to organize that man's closet would be a study in monochrome. I'd throw myself in front of a car after five minutes—and don't try and tell me you wear colour, Derek. We both know the truth about that."

"Actually, you'd be surprised," Dad puts in. "He's been making quite the effort." He tips his head forward in a conspiratorial sort of way and whispers, "Because Lydia _made him_."

"I don't know how that woman is immune," Stiles says, shaking his head. "She's _total_ Alpha material."

"Like werewolves have a monopoly on top dogs," his Dad smirks, totally ignoring the wounded look Derek gives him. Stiles doesn't miss it, but he's saving it for later. No need to waste a moment like that when he can get top dollar vengeance out of it later. "Doesn't matter who she deals with—Lydia's always going to be on top."

"Just ask Jackson," Stiles quips, then slaps a hand over his eyes. "Oh my _god_ why did I say that? Mental picture, mental picture!" Which isn't to say it isn't a pretty one because it is. On any day ending in y, Stiles isn't sure who's the prettier one in that relationship actually is (seriously, he isn't and, considering his previously heavy-duty Lydia Martin fixation, that says a _lot_ ), but still? Some things a man just does not need.

Imagining Lydia and Jackson together? Yeah, that's number one on his 'not-to-do' list. 

He gets up. "That's it. I need sugar. I need all the sugar. First werewolf that tries to stop me gets wolfsbane in his waffles."  
"Waffles?"

Stiles snorts. "Oh like you're going anywhere tonight. Forget it, Hale, we're on to you. You were totally going to pull a good, old-fashioned creeper and sleep in your car." He dumps a healthy spoonful of sugar into his coffee, then adds another just in case. "You're not, by the way."

"I'm not," Derek deadpans. "Why am I not?"

"Because," Stiles smiles. "There's a perfectly good, perfectly lumpy couch in the living room. You can use that. I'd offer the spare room, but still too-stinky, so the couch it is."

Derek starts to argue, then shakes his head. "Couch is fine," he says, turning around.

Standing at the kitchen counter, Stiles blinks. 

Did he just—he did, didn't he? He actually won an almost argument with _Derek Hale_?

Huh. 

Wonders never cease.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fuck my life," he mutters, running a hand over his head. "Remember when we would've solved all this with biting sarcasm and some pitiful attempts at physical violence?"

Stiles double-checks the locks and sets the alarms before making a circuit of the house's other protections. Before he left town, he'd made sure that his father would be as safe and protected as he could be without Derek and the pack moving in. It had taken him weeks to build that much magic into the house, months to prepare, and it covered pretty much everything Deaton had taught him plus a few dirty tricks of his own. All of it amounts to the house being pretty well-defended against supernatural attack, but that's not enough. 

He has a feeling nothing may ever be. Not even if he turned the house into the magical equivalent of a safe room (and hey, that's not a bad idea) and barricaded them all inside it. 

Yeah, Stilinski parenting totally involved the over-the-top freakout with a side of 'oh holy God, we're all going to die and which end do I diaper again?' for kicks.

It's probably a relief that Ella's old enough to take care of the potty business herself. 

"Everything looks good. House is locked up tight, but god, I need to update a few things," he says, bringing Derek blankets and a pillow, mentally congratulating himself for not making any bad jokes. Harbouring fugitive werewolves got to be a habit for a while."I think it'll hold for a while, but it's been years and no telling how badly everything's degraded."

"It's fine," Derek says, taking the blankets and pillows, dropping them on the couch. "I'm here. Scott, Isaac, and Allison are right across the street. No one's getting in here without us knowing about it." 

Stiles breathes out, nodding. "Yeah, I know. I do, it's just—I need to do _something_ , Derek." Mostly because, right now, he has no idea what he's supposed to do next and he fucking hates sitting on his hands. It's a familiar feeling, but he knows better than to blurt it out. These days, he's mostly good with himself in ways the guy he'd been could never have imagined. 

Maybe it grew out of facing down a bunch of curious six year old kids every day (kids are to doubt and fear what sharks are to blood. _Seriously_ ), but he learned how to make a place for himself. He isn't waiting on anyone else to do it for him. 

Doesn't mean an invitation wouldn't be nice, but he's not falling apart in the meantime. 

Derek gives him a look, curious and intense, like he can scent out what Stiles is thinking. Stiles just shrugs and gestures for him to speak, trying not to react to the suspiciously fond look Derek gives him as he says, "Deaton's been working on the police station for your father—from what Erica and your dad have shown me, you might be able to incorporate some of it here." 

"Oh yeah?" Stiles perches on the arm of the couch, bare toes digging into the rug beneath his feet. It's weird, still, to think of his dad having that much contact with the pack. They're regularly communicating and discussing things and Stiles isn't sure how to feel about that yet. At first, keeping his father in the dark had been about protecting him and, as time passed, his job. Stiles had gotten pretty determined about that one after the Jackson debacle and, maybe, he's still worried about it even though it's long since ceased to be a possibility. Dad's been in on the secret for years and it's still sinking in that Derek and his dad have a relationship outside of Stiles. He tries picturing them sitting around the kitchen table with Erica and Deaton, going over plans, and his brain just refuses. He blames that on the way he fumbles with, "I'll have to do that then, thanks." 

It's been years since werewolf drama was his day to day existence, but he doesn't remember things being this damn awkward either.

He's been away too long. He doesn't really know how to fit back into things, and it's going to take time for him to fit back into the Stiles-shaped hole he left— especially with Ella involved.

He watches Derek start to make up the couch, unfolding the blankets and spreading them out, his back to Stiles the entire time. Stiles hasn't knowingly been around an alpha in a while, but he recognizes the gesture for what it is and his stomach twists with the unease of it. He doesn't really want to pin down why it bothers him that Derek still trusts him that much, but it does. 

"Fuck my life," he mutters, running a hand over his head. "Remember when we would've solved all this with biting sarcasm and some pitiful attempts at physical violence?"

"Fondly," Derek drops down onto the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table. It's jarring to see him sitting on a bright yellow blanket in his jeans and black shirt and Stiles smothers a laugh. Some things will never, ever change. "You were always welcome here, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Stiles starts to nod, but then stops. He does know, sort of, but the whole thing is fucked up in ways he can't even begin to understand. "Fuck, no, that doesn't sound right. Yes, I knew, I did. I always knew that, but I just—I needed not to be here for a while. I needed to go somewhere where my whole world wasn't everyone else. Somewhere I wasn't the Sheriff's son or Scott McCall's best friend." Or the pack's go-to-guy for just about everything. He breathes deep, tries not to feel it, too aware of Derek's eyes on him as he continues, "I wasn't _me_ here. Most days, I didn't know who I was supposed to be and, God, this all sounds more pathetic than it was. I just needed to be somewhere no one even knew this town existed." He has a feeling Derek already knows, but he just can't admit outright that he needed someone to see _him_.

Mostly because he's just cowardly enough to be afraid of what Derek might say in response. 

"I am way too sober to be having this conversation," he decides, sliding down onto the couch. He ends up shoulder to shoulder with Derek and it's comfortable. "But since you can't really get drunk—" he grins, watching Derek roll his eyes. "What? You holding out on me, Hale? A little wolfsbane in the wodka?"

Derek's glare is a little too heated not to be true. 

"Oh, you _so do_ ," he snickers. "Awesome." 

"I didn't say that," Derek says in a mutter.

"No, of course you didn't," Stiles shrugs. "It's our thing. Stilinski and Hale: masters of avoidance and diversion. Watch them dance around the obvious and pretend no one knows even though they're probably taking bets."

He's sure everyone would make serious bank off this particular conversation. He wonders what kind of odds Scott would give it. He knows full well his BFF was the ringleader. Scott's always been a lousy liar. 

Well, mostly.

Derek smiles. Glad, Stiles bets, to be on a new topic of conversation. "I hear Isaac cleaned up on the last one."

"So I've been told. I'm going to pretend the amount was in the single digits," Stiles says, "Otherwise I'm going to burst into extremely unmanly tears of hysteria and Ella will end up comforting me." 

"Not angry?" Derek asks with a lift of his eyebrow. 

"Angry that Isaac bet against me?" Stiles snorts. "Maybe I would've been once, but I've grown and matured as a person. That's why I can forgive Isaac for his accurate lack of faith in our ability to avoid fucking it up."

Derek's expression turns knowing. "He cut you in for some, didn't he?"

"My dad, actually. I hear the pool had gotten pretty out of hand by the time I left town. Apparently single digits were definitely not on the table that day." God only knows what it'll look like once word gets around that he's officially back in town. "We should probably get in on the ground floor of the next one," he adds.

"Planning on rigging the betting?" Derek asks.

"Yep," Stiles nods. "I can use the money. I'll take me a while to move all my savings back to town. Can't run the risk of them tracking it." 

"Get your details to Danny," Derek says, offhand. "He'll take care of it." 

"The more things change, huh?" Stiles says. "How's he doing with the whole—marriage, kids, being a newly-minted creature of the night? Still call you Miguel?"

Derek's glower answers that one and Stiles smirks, putting his feet up on the coffee table. It never surprised him that Danny had fitted so seamlessly into the pack, but that he'd gone so far as to take the bite was another story.

He looks up at the ceiling, probing the thought like a loose tooth. Stiles remembers getting the email and the days of jittery tension that had followed, waiting to hear if Danny had rejected it or not. Most of the kids hadn't noticed, but Ella had watched him like a hawk the entire time. 

It was the first real sign he'd had about her and, yeah, he needs to tell her this story some day.

"Seriously, though, how is he? I mean, we email back and forth, but it can be hard to tell. People don't tell me things sometimes." They've gotten pretty good at not saying things and he's gotten better at spotting the holes in the story. "Living so far away, I guess, they don't want me to worry." 

Derek doesn't look surprised. In fact, he looks a little guilty.

Stiles sits up in a rush. "That was _your_ idea?"

"Not exactly," Derek hedges, but the way he hunches forward, elbows on his knees, and refuses to look at Stiles kind of tells the tale. It absolutely was Derek's idea and Stiles doesn't doubt for a second it's his idea of 'helping'. "It seemed to be for the best. You'd made your choice and it wasn't fair of us to try and change it." 

Stiles has no idea what to do with that. He really doesn't. His head is torn between spinning and exploding (maybe both. Both definitely seems good) and he's leaning toward being completely pissed off, but he doesn't know. Leaving had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. There's no doubt _now_ that it was for the best, but back then Stiles had been nothing but doubt.

Too much bad news from home might have been just the thing he would have needed to chicken out. 

And God knows what would've happened to Ella if he had. 

"Maybe," he finally says, realizing that Derek's watching him and waiting for a reaction, "but I reserve the right to be totally pissed off at you later."

Derek nods, like he's giving him permission or something.

Stiles rubs his forehead. "This is so fucked up." It's even more fucked up that he feels _better_ about that, but hey, at least he recognizes that now.

Back in the day, when this was all new and he was still safely invested in loving someone who could never return it, he was a master of self-deception. He probably still could be if he wanted it bad enough. He could thrive on even the tiniest scrap of interest. He remembers how it felt to bask in the feeling of loving Lydia, the warmth of the secret, and how it kept him going for a long time. He knows better now. He knows what it's like to touch and be touched, to have someone know him and _want_ him. 

He opens his mouth, not even sure what he's going to say next, but Derek's expression changes. His eyes go up, looking toward the ceiling.

Ella.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words don't fix this. That was one of the lessons he'd learned in losing his Mom. Words can't make the emptiness go away; can't fill it up no matter what combination anyone tries.

Stiles is on his feet and headed for the stairs before his brain can really process what he's seeing. He's forgotten about this part of himself, about learning to roll on instinct and trust that first thought even before you really have it, but it floods back like it never left. He lets it rise up and hold on, guiding his feet through the rearranged living room. 

He can't hear anything, no screaming or crying, but that doesn't stop him from trying. He's never wanted to be a wolf in anything more than the most abstract of ways, but he envies Derek this one small advantage right now. 

Not that he needs to be told that it's a nightmare and he's clinging to that reassurance: if Ella were in real danger, Derek wouldn't be bringing up the rear in silent support. Stiles isn't even going to try pretending that knowing Derek would _destroy_ anyone who tries to hurt her isn't a massive relief. 

Stiles takes the stairs two at a time, hurrying to his bedroom door. What he finds when he opens it breaks his heart all over again because Ella isn't thrashing about, isn't screaming in terror, or anything even half as dramatic as that. Instead, he finds her curled on her side, arms bar tight around her teddy bear, crying silently in her sleep. 

There's going to be no way to do this easy. 

"Ella." 

He pitches his voice as softly and as gently as he can, but she's on alert. This is her new home, but she doesn't _know_ that yet. She's going to wake up in unfamiliar territory with a relative stranger standing over her. 

Fuck, he hates hunters. 

Derek comes to a stop behind him, laying a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Try again." 

He does, but _fuck_ he doesn't want to. He looks back at Derek, feeling helpless. Derek's hand tightens and he nods. 

It feels like a betrayal to admit, even to himself, that he needs that little bit of reassurance, but Stiles knows better. He closes his eyes and lets the warmth of Derek's touch sink into him, spread through him, before he moves away from it and closer to the bed.

This time, when he speaks, it's louder. She rolls toward him, stirring fitfully, but doesn't open her eyes until he kneels by the bed and lays a hand on her shoulder.

The reaction is as dramatic as expected. Ella yelps in fear and scrambles up onto her knees. The teddy bear is still gripped tight, but before her like a shield, and she's wild-eyed as she looks around the room.

It doesn't take too much work to imagine what it would have been like if she were capable of actual shifts right now. 

"It's okay, Ella," he says, keeping to that same, calm voice. "It's me. It's just Stiles." He pauses, then tries to grin cheerfully. He's not sure he succeeds, but he keeps going. He doesn't really have any other option. "Okay, so it's not just Stiles. Derek's here too."

That seems to get through. This time, when Ella looks at him, she seems to register who she's seeing and Stiles feels the tightness in his chest ease, if only just. 

Ella moves forward. " _Stiles_?"

He smiles, sad, nodding once. "Yeah, kiddo, it's me. You were having a nightmare." 

Ella kneels up on the bed, staring at him for a long moment, confused, then her face crumples and she starts to sob in earnest. Stiles feels like joining her. 

Yeah, what else do you do when you wake up from a nightmare to realize that it's real?

Stiles gets up and sits on the bed. Ella doesn't wait. She's up and scrambling in his arms before he's really even sitting down. It means he fumbles it, tumbling onto the bed with her, but she doesn't seem to care that they end up in a ridiculous jumble of limbs. She just latches on and tucks her face against his neck and keeps right on crying.

It's uncomfortable, damp, and Stiles would promise to stay like this forever if it meant it would fix this.

"They're _gone_ ," she says, miserably. "They're all gone."

Stiles brushes her hair back from her forehead, feeling the sweat from her nightmares, and he nods. He doesn't know what to say, but there aren't words for this. He remembers how it had felt those first awful days after the funeral when Scott had come over and stayed with him. Scott was the only one who'd been able to help. Everyone else had been so full of bullshit advice and ridiculous cliches that he'd all but hidden under his bed for the first few days. He hadn't left his room at all until Scott had shown up, sitting outside Stiles' door and waiting without saying a word. 

They hadn't talked much at all when Stiles did finally come out. Scott had treated him almost like normal. The only difference had been the way he'd stayed close, a warm and solid presence until Stiles could close his eyes and not see his Mom slipping away. 

Thinking of that now makes Stiles move, tuck himself a little more carefully around Ella, and keep silent. Words don't fix this. That was one of the lessons he'd learned in losing his Mom. Words can't make the emptiness go away; can't fill it up no matter what combination anyone tries. 

Stiles isn't sure anything can do that. He's still trying to figure out a way to do it himself, but he remembers Scott's silent steadiness and maybe that's where he needs to start.

"They locked us in," Ella says, sniffling. She pulls back and looks at Stiles. God, he's not ready for that look on her face and he hates those hunters all over again. "Mama tried to open a window and they _shot her_. Why did they shoot my Mama, Stiles?" 

The plaintive question is a punch to the gut, but one made so much worse by the sound Derek makes. It's broken, agonized, and Stiles doesn't even want to try imagining what Ella's words sound like to his ears. 

Seriously, seriously hates hunters so fucking much right now.

Stiles kisses her on the forehead, wiping at the tears that keep falling and fails holding back a few of his own. God, how he wants none of this to be happening. He'd give her up in a second if it meant she didn't have to feel this anymore. "That's a complicated question, kiddo. I'm not sure there's any answer that's going to make sense to you right now." Or ever. He's pretty sure that Derek couldn't answer it anymore than Ella can. "Short answer is fear." 

At least, that's the one he gives her. The other short answer is they're heartless assholes, but that's his anger talking and it's not going to help anyone right now. 

"People don't like things that are different. They don't know what to do with different. That's bad enough when we're talking about stuff as simple as new foods or polka dots, but werewolves are a whole different level of different. Most humans don't know werewolves exist, but some of the ones that do know just enough to be scared. They see something that's bigger and more powerful than they are; something that could hurt them without even trying hard. That makes them afraid."

"But we wouldn't hurt them," Ella stutters out, rubbing at her eyes. "We wouldn't."

"No, you wouldn't," Stiles agrees, "but they're too scared to understand that. Maybe they saw an omega hurt someone or another werewolf who made a mistake, or maybe it was just that someone told them that; all they know is being afraid." 

"Someone told them we're bad?" 

The bed dips as Derek sits down beside him. Stiles turns himself and Ella around to face Derek as he says, quietly, "Yes." They don't look at each other, Derek keeps his eyes on Ella's face the entire time, but Stiles can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on the both of them. It isn't as if they're the first parents in the world to to have this conversation with a child, but that doesn't make it any easier. "It's like Stiles says, being different scares people and it's easier to hate than it is to understand." 

Ella hugs her teddy bear, pressing her face down into the fur as she mutters, "That's dumb."

"Yeah, it is," Stiles leans back against the pillows, wishing he could rub at the ache in his back. He used to be so much more limber than this. Seriously. He squirms into a slightly more comfortable position before pulling Ella down with him. She doesn't fight it, tucking her head beneath his chin again. She cuddles closer and she's not crying anymore. _Victory_. "People do a lot of dumb things, kiddo. It's kind of a trait of the species."

Derek chuckles. "Both of them."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "You know, dude, that's kind of the smartest thing you've ever said. Congratulations, Derek, there's hope for you yet."

Ella's gasp of shock is palpable and she sits up in a rush, nearly knocking her head against his chin when she does. " _Stiles_."

Okay, it probably makes him the biggest baby that ever babied, but they all need to sleep right now so he's going to take any chance he can get to settle Ella down and get her mind off what happened. 

"What?" he asks, all innocence. "Did I say something wrong?"

She whacks him with her teddy bear. "He's the _Alpha_."

Behind her, Derek turns his head and Stiles knows the bastard is hiding a smirk right now. 

But that's fine. That's cool. 

Stiles doesn't mind letting Derek enjoy the laugh just this once. He can be the bigger guy (and, hey, technically he _is_ these days, but it's not like he's keeping track or anything) but, then again, it's ass o'clock in the morning and he doesn't _want_ to be. 

Which is how he throws up a mental 'fuck it' and smirks at Derek. "So he likes to tell people, but that's just because Lydia lets him." Immune or no, Lydia could absolutely stage a coup and take over the pack if she wanted.

In fact, Stiles has considered that as a viable battle plan for rival packs if needs be. Lydia's certainly had no complaints with the idea when he suggested it. 

Of course, that's probably because she views betas as minions, but hey, whatever works, right?

Derek's shoulders are shaking and his head is down. Bastard is laughing his ass off right now and Stiles has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back his own laughter. 

Ella, however, looks perfectly disgusted with him and Stiles can't stop the grin that sneaks its way onto his face. She hits him with the teddy bear again, but doesn't argue when he tugs her back down. "It's okay," he says, kissing the top of her head, "We're just teasing. Lydia isn't going to try and take over the pack. She's too busy running everything else."

"You're _silly_ ," Ella decides, but she stays right where she is. 

Stiles looks over at Derek. He's watching them quietly and, when Stiles catches his eye, nods once. She's settling down again. Stiles can feel her relaxing in his arms. He's not stupid enough to think this is over though, so he looks at Derek again.

Derek's already moving. The bed's not really big enough, but they both seem to have the same idea and neither of them is in a mood to fight it.

When he gets the blankets straightened out and settled over them, Derek stretches out on the other side of Ella. One of his legs ends up sprawled across Stiles, the arm he drapes over Ella's back finds it's way across Stiles as well, but he's not complaining. 

He doesn't miss the fact he's not complaining either. He looks at Derek over Ella's head and he's sure; this is going to be a problem.

He falls asleep before he can decide if that bothers him or not.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's never going to be embarrassed about asking for help. / Okay, he probably will be, but he's not going to be stupid enough to refuse it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, folks, long story with boring details, but YAY update. Will be longer, promise, just wanted to get this out so you know, yes, still here, still thinking about it, still working on it. :D

Stiles wishes that were the end of it and that Ella slept easily through the night with no dreams or hunters dogging her rest, but she doesn't. The nightmares plague her all through the night and Stiles tries to pass the time between them dozing. It helps that Derek is right there with him. 

It should be weird, the casual intimacy of this, lying in bed with only Ella and her bear separating them. Every time one of them reaches for her their hand brushes the other, light and passing, but unmissable all the same. 

It should be weird, but it isn't, and Stiles is glad of it. Somewhere in the night, he starts to drift deeper and if Ella has any more nightmares, he sleeps right through them. 

He doesn't realize it until he's waking up to the sun high in the sky and an empty, sleep-warm bed. 

He lies there for a minute, comfortable and lazy, giving his brain a chance to process what happened. The part of him that's still panicking over being someone's father instantly feels guilty about sleeping through the night. Except that part of him gets shouted down pretty fast by the rest of him. He remembers how hard it had been on his dad in the beginning, after mom, and how much time Melissa and Scott had spent at the house. No matter how exhausted his Dad was from the night shifts, he wouldn't lie down until Melissa got there.

Stiles can still remember her shooing his Dad up the stairs, scolding him as he'd went. He smiles. He's never going to be embarrassed about asking for help. 

Okay, he probably will be, but he's not going to be stupid enough to refuse it. 

Among other things he isn't going to be stupid enough to refuse is the pancakes and bacon he can smell wafting up the stairs. 

His mouth waters and he rolls over to dig for his pants, catching sight of the clock as he does.

"S'late," he yawns out, walking into the kitchen. "Why'd you let me sleep so long?"

"You needed it," Derek answers. "You were up half the night." He's the only one in the room, pouring batter into a pan, but it doesn't take much to figure out where Ella and Dad are. The sight of empty plates on the table and the sound of giggles floating in through the open window tell the tale. 

He closes his eyes for a moment and just listens to the sound. He's almost not sure whose laughter sounds better; as much as he needed to get out of town after high school, Stiles has never been totally okay with leaving his Dad. 

It shouldn't have taken this to bring him home, but he's here and Dad is laughing. He's going to call it a win. 

Derek's watching him when he opens his eyes. The awkward moment is averted when Stiles yawns so wide his jaw pops. He apologizes via a shrug and scratches his stomach. "I'm not the only one sleep deprived. You were up more than I was." 

"It was fine," Derek says with a shrug of his own. He turns back to the stove and drops more bacon in a frying pan, turning over the pancakes in the other. It's pretty damn domestic and Stiles is two seconds from proposing. It's _real_ bacon, not the stuff he insists his Dad eat, and he's not even going to pretend to be mad about that.

"God, that smells fantastic," he says, crowding up behind Derek and leaning over. 

The fat snaps up into the air and Stiles pinwheels backward, nearly catching it in the face. 

Derek catches him by the t-shirt, giving him a look that has Stiles snorting in response. "Yeah, yeah, I know, parents actually trust me with their children on a daily basis. I've shaped and molded young minds. Fear for the future of America, really."

"You did all right with Scott," Derek says, almost smiling. "That says something."

Stiles brushes it off with a laugh. "I laid the groundwork, it Allison and Isaac that did the heavy lifting. They married the guy." 

He helps himself to a cup of coffee and goes to the door to watch the kids play. It takes two seconds to spot Ella and Dad. Ella's giggling, her hair bouncing as she dodges between his legs to chase after a purple and blue football. Dad totally cheats, using his longer legs to pull ahead of her, but Ella counters it with a wild dive into the grass.

"Oh, that's going to be a bitch to get out," Stiles complains, laughing. "Got any tips on grass removal?"

"Scott will," Derek replies. He brings a plate to Stiles piled high with pancakes and bacon. "The ladies at the PTA have practically voted him Alpha." 

Taking the plate, Stiles turns to look at him. "You joke, but I totally have met PTA ladies who would have made Deucalion shit himself." 

Derek raises an eyebrow. "So have I."

"You're totally pack teddy bear, aren't you?" Stiles crunches bacon, trying not to make any embarrassing noises when the flavor hits his taste-buds. Seriously, how the fuck did he miss the part where Derek Hale is some kind of culinary god? "This is seriously amazing, by the way, and no, that's not me changing the subject. You are. I can tell. You let all the kids just swarm you. I gotta know, Derek, pin the tail on the Alpha, is that a thing?"

Stiles yelps when the plate is tugged smoothly out of his hand. He may, or may not, make grabby gestures, nearly dropping his coffee in the process. "Okay, okay," he says, grinning. "Sorry." 

Derek puts the plate on the table and picks up the empty ones. "No, you're not."

"I'm not?"

He shakes his head. "You do that on purpose when you want to avoid a conversation."

Sliding into a seat at the table, Stiles has a moment of debate between coffee or bacon (mourns the there is no coffee-bacon) and then puts down the mug with a snort. Who's he kidding? Bacon _always_ wins. He tugs the plate closer and grabs up a his fork. He's a father now, so he should probably make an attempt at eating like a responsible adult. 

He shovels food into his mouth, aware that Derek is waiting for him to comment and, unlike years gone by, is patient enough to wait him out. 

He chews, because yeah responsible adults do not gulp their bacon, and then sighs out, "Okay, Dr. Freud, what conversation am I avoiding now?"

Having poured his own cup of coffee, Derek sits down and, oh look, judge-y eyebrows. Stiles has not missed those at all. (okay, no, he did, but hell if he's going to admit it) "Don't be obtuse, Stiles, it sets a bad example." 

Which, dammit, he's right, but still, "She's outdoors," he says, not quite able to stop himself from looking to check. 

"She can hear you," Derek reminds, grinning into his mug.

"Eavesdropping might be a time-honored Stilinski tradition, but she's still grounded if she is. " It's not as if he can see her or her guilty look, but hey, that's what grandfathers are for. He sits back with his coffee and looks at Derek. "Besides, what kid wants to hear about their dad's—" he waves the mug. "Yeah." 

And that brings judge-y brows back for a return visit. "If you can't say it, Stiles, then maybe we shouldn't be talking about it."

Stiles snorts. "Which one of us was just worried about little ears hearing too much?" He sips his coffee, gleefully enjoying the glare Derek sends his way. "We'll talk," he promises, when he's done savoring the victory, "but I kind of think we should maybe let things settle out first." Whatever is or isn't going to happen between them, he doesn't want to fuck it up. 

However it ends, or doesn't, it's too important to gamble on. 

He bites his cheek, holds his breath, and watches Derek closely, willing him to get it.

The nod, when it comes, is a tiny, tiny thing and, yet, to Stiles, it's a tectonic shift. He can almost feel everything around him shifting place, giving way, resettling into something new and yet not new at all. _Awesome_.

He breathes out, smiles, and finishes breakfast. 

They've got a war to get ready for.

Or something.


End file.
